


Song of Darkness

by Ramzes



Series: Spears of the Sun [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Multi, accidentally deleted before, an old fic i intend to continue and hopefully update regularly now, deleted now for some edits and reposted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 70,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ramzes/pseuds/Ramzes
Summary: AU in which Rhaegar won at the Trident and the fate of Westeros changed. Now, Elia and Rhaegar have gone their separate ways and of course, there are those who want to use that to further their own ends. And of course, the distrust between the King of the Seven Kingdoms and the Princess of Dorne is a valuable asset to those who seek to destroy them. NOT A NEW FIC. REPOST OF THE OLD ONE WHICH I TOOK DOWN FOR SOME EDITS.





	1. The Portrait

**Author's Note:**

> I already deleted this story once, although accidentally, and the sight of the comment section has been irking me ever since. I did my best to recover all the comments, with the user names and all but I could only post them under my own name, noting the 'nym of the commenters. Honestly, it looked like I was conversing with myself. Not very sane. So when I decided to make my changes, it was easy to go straight to starting all over. Now, if only I can be more careful and not delete by accident...

 The long hall, the two flights of stairs, and the heavy tapestries depicting various couples, not always of different sex, engaged in delightful and wicked activities, successfully muted the sounds coming from the common room. Many guests liked to hear the music as background of their own pleasure but there were also those who rather preferred silence, so the women had developed a way to change sounds in the blink of an eye: an additional tapestry over the door held in place by heavy rings that could be easily drawn up or down – a simple but effective trick.

The client currently occupying this most luxury room of the most sumptuous establishment of its kind in King's Landing belonged to the second type. It was his third visit here within a week and the second time running that he asked for her. She was becoming popular, although she was barely fourteen! And judging by his attire and his unwillingness to be seen, he might even be a real lord. Her breast swelled with pride.

"M'lord only needs to tell me what he needs," she purred.

He chuckled. "Take a few pillows and recline against them," he ordered. "Arrange the coverings around yourself."

Her eyes flickered at the portrait hanging at the wall on their left. It was a new addition, having come to them only a few weeks ago, and she delighted in the rumours she heard about it. Now she took the posture of the naked woman in it – a girl not much older than herself, lying amidst what looked like real rich furs in colours the girl had not even know existed in beasts. The jewels adorning her also looked real – sparkling red, nightly shade of blue, the green of the Kingswood she had seen once, the cold glitter of stars… Long lines of gems the young whore had not seen alternating with pearls shot through the girl's dark hair and disappeared against the black of one of the firs, right against the soft curve of her bent knees.

"Was she indeed a queen?" she asked and he chuckled again.

"She was. A queen and a whore. They are all like this there, you know. Prove that you're better than her," he challenged and she took it as a task that might bring her some additional coins.

She almost got him to acknowledge that no whore, a royal one or not, could not compare to her when the tapestries failed to completely drown the echo of booted feet. Before they could realize what was going on, the door flew wide open and they found themselves face to face with a dozen of gold cloaks.

"Looks like we'll have to do the deed ourselves," the King noted sardonically. "Given the way the men ran away as soon as they got rid of the thing, the servants might drop dead once they reveal it, so it has to be us."

The King's Hand sighed heavily. The gold cloaks' fear was not a good thing indeed. The painting was probably all it was reported to be and much worse. The men had certainly wrapped in in enough layers of cloth for a southern bird to survive a good hundred years on the Wall.

"I'll do it, Your Grace," he said and immediately proceeded to action.

The King's pale face told him that it was even worse than the worse he had expected. He made a step back and his jaw dropped at the unashamed sensuality – shamelessness – of the image captured on the wood panel. _At least the man isn't there_ , he thought but it was a bleak comfort. For how long had this been displayed in that brothel frequented by highborn? How many people had seen it? Had they recognized her? With a pang of despair, Jon Arryn realized that he would have recognized her even without having been warned about her identity, so why wouldn't others know who she was at once?

"Your Grace," he started and fell silent because he didn't have anything to say. What did one say to a man who had found out that he had wed a... a woman like this? Jon knew he'd die, should Lysa's shame be exposed to the world like this. But this was… What would happen now? That would throw doubt over the royal succession. Seven hells, it might even lead to a war… if the King managed to keep it all political, which, where she was concerned, he hadn't managed until now.

"Oh stop with those sympathies already!"

Rhaegar Targaryen's voice was pulsing with anger. Finally, Jon looked at him and was met by eyes widened in fury.

"Certainly it happened before your wedding," he offered tentatively. "The Princess is all but a girl here…"

"Stop talking through your hat already, I said!" the King cut him off. "This isn't Elia."

 _The Seven help us, he's as mad as Aerys!_ "I- I don't see how such a thing is possible, Your Grace. I…"

"That's right," Rhaegar agreed icily. " _You_ don't see. For the Mother's sake, Jon, I lived with the woman! I know what she looks like unclothed." He jabbed the offensive panel with his index finger and glared at the woman in it who was not a woman at all, for all the carnality that she had let be depicted. "This isn't Elia, I assure you. The body isn't hers. Blood and doom, even the face isn't the same!"

He didn't need his Hand saying anything to know that he hadn't been believed. Indeed, the face was very much like Elia's, save the slight difference in the cheekbones and the heavier eyelids. The lips were also fuller. It didn't matter, of course. All those would be accepted as imperfections of the hand placing the oil on the panel. Rhaegar only had his instincts to tell him that the difference was more than superficial, a misfortune. The expression wasn't right. The feelings bringing life behind those black eyes – they weren't something that would show in Elia's face in this exact way. The woman simply wasn't his former wife, a girl or not. Although on the tapestry hanging in the wall – a _tapestry_? On the wall of a bloody _cave_? – displayed the cockatrice and serpent that were the sigil of House Gargalen which Elia's father was descended from. His eyes went to the voluptuous body. No, not Elia at all.

No chance at all to convince the world that it wasn't her either.

"Elia came to me a maiden, I know that for sure," he said because it was the truth.

Silence.

"One day, they'll say my heir is a bastard," Rhaegar finally exploded. "That's what they will say, a bastard!"

"Why not?" Jon Arryn asked calmly. "It wasn't as if you helped him much with the way you treated his mother, the former Queen."

This time, it was the King who went silent with shock. But it was true, he had done everything in his power to undermine Elia's position once it became clear that she had wed Arthur Dayne, of all people. And carrying his child. The thought that she had given Arthur the daughter Rhaegar had been craving for didn't help him feel warmly toward her. But he had certainly never meant to imply that she had been anything but a faultless wife in their past.

Now, it turned out that his help might not be needed. It had been achieved all on its own, without even Elia’s own participation.

"I want to know where this foulness came from," he said, turning his back on the panel, and wished for it to disappear. "I want to find the one who brought it there. I want him questioned. Immediately! I will not suffer calumnies thrown in my children's way – or Elia's, for that matter! Someone painted this lie, invented this nonexisting woman just to taint the former Queen, my children's mother and I will not tolerate it. He will be punished most severely - indeed, I am starting to think that maiming Ser Ilyn wasn't as insane as I always thought it!"

She had an injured newborn to tend to. Rhaegar was quite surprised at how much this detail changed things, melting a good deal of his anger away and making him feel protective toward her. No matter what else Elia was, she wasn't the creature they were trying to make her out to be.

Who were they? Who was standing behind this strike against Aegon? Because Rhaegar had no doubt that that was it – an attempt to undermine his first son's standing. And his own, of course. After all, if Elia had been a whore years before her marriage to him, what did this fact make him?

 

 


	2. Shimmering Suns and Rising Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and commenting - again, perhaps!

Arthur heard the crying as soon as he turned the corner. The hall was a long one, yet the sound carried with no problem, making the handmaidens shake their heads sympathetically and everyone crossing the marble courtyard below look up, wondering what torment was being inflicted upon the babe.

Arthur pushed the door, to be met with a new flow of screaming. In the beginning, he had been scared that Carral might die of sheer suffocation since when he cried, there was little left unoccupied in him to focus on breathing. But other than becoming purple, the newborn seemed to handle both processes simultaneously quite fine. He had now added a third skill to the mix: writhing and trying to escape Maester Caleotte's firm grip as the old man patiently moved his injured arm this and that way, supposedly to limit the consequences of the damage caused by the harsh birth. The maesters claimed it was an incredible success that mother and children had made it out alive; looking at the sheer torment on his son's face, Arthur found it very difficult to think this way, no matter how hard he tried.

A dark-haired woman sat near the table Maester Caleotte was working on. For a moment, Arthur's heart leapt with joy before he realized that it was not Elia. In the shaded chamber, her cousin Alynna looked almost as bad, though, painfully gaunt, her lips white and the exhausted lines around her eyes and mouth showing the torture of the sleep-deprived. Her husband stood behind her, the eyes of both trained on the babe. In the far end of the room where the double cradle was set up, Myriah was sleeping as if nothing could disturb her at all. Sometimes, Arthur got scared that she had been born deaf.

Maester Caleotte gave him a passing look. "We're almost done, my lord," he said. "Maybe you'll wish to leave until it's over?"

"No, I won't," Arthur said briefly, recognizing the words as almost the same grooms told men who had their favourite steed being treated. He had never left a horse suffer on its own. If his mates in warring, jousting, and trying to catch the wind could go through it, then he could stay and watch, and try to calm them down.

Not that it would work with a human babe, of course. But fortunately, the old maester was true to his word and soon, the torture was over. The man left and Alynna immediately went to take Carral and try to soothe him.

"For how long have you been here?" he asked, just to make some conversation. Anything but listen to those anguished squeals.

His brother shrugged. "Why, I had to see the beauty and my little double," he replied. Indeed, with his fuzz of black hair Carral did resemble Arel more than he did Arthur. What could be already gathered of his facial lines was that of his uncle and grandfather, as well, and while it was too soon to say what shade of purple his eyes would take, Arthur could bet that it wouldn't be his own clearness of colour. Arel’s violet, most likely, darkening to black when truly angry.

"I can't wait for the time when he's old enough to talk," Arel went on, determined not to let the hopelessness lurking around the nursery since the very first day settle in. "People will certainly mistake him for mine."

Arthur smiled a little. "And you'll find it funny, eh?"

"Incredibly funny," his brother confirmed. "And you can rely on Alric and Oberyn to teach him how to mislead people about that because well, it's so funny."

"He does look like you, for now at least," Arthur confirmed. Relief coursed through him when the newborn's wails turned into whimpering and then, this subsided as well.

Alynna came near, the child still in her arms. "Do you wish to hold him for a moment, Arthur?"

And risk holding him in a way he shouldn't, making the pain return? "No," he replied.

She shrugged and kept busying herself with Carral. "I'll try not to feel concerned by the very obvious resemblance, my lord," she offered, not bothering to look at her husband. "And I'll particularly try not to feel concerned that you were here around the time they were conceived."

Both men laughed, relieved to see some of her perky spirit restored to her. But they had seen it coming back a few times already. Always, it retreated, leaving her into the realm of regret, longing, and grief that she had barely scrambled out of years ago, into the merciless grip of terrified fear that she had not overcome yet.

"I happen to remember where I spent my nights during this stay, my lady," Arel said. "Don't you remember as well?"

She pretended to be in deep thought as she placed the now sleeping Carral next to Myriah. Immediately, the two started rearranging themselves without waking up. Arthur knew that they'd end up touching their heads. That was what they did.

For a while, Alynna stayed there, staring at them. Arthur wondered whether she had come because she missed her own twin children, also a boy and a girl and just a year older, left at Starfall. Or maybe she was thinking of her other twins, the ones born of her first marriage? Sometimes, Arthur felt so jealous of Rhaegar despite knowing that Elia had never loved him that he couldn't understand how his brother could accept Alynna's past of reciprocated love so coolly.

"Come on, Arel," his goodsister finally said. "Let's go."

After their leaving, Arthur stayed for a while near the cradle, wondering why newborns spent so much time sleeping. Not that it was a bad thing. Sleeping meant not crying and while they had tried to move the nursery away from Elia's own bedchamber, she wouldn't allow such a thing, so Arthur had become well acquainted with the level of noise children were capable of producing. He tried to remember whether Rhaenys or Aegon had cried so much. As far as he could say, they hadn't.

The door creaked open and Rhaenys poked her head in, as if summoned by his thoughts. "Oh they're sleeping," she said, disappointed. "Well, I'm going to see Mother, then."

But a few minutes later, Arthur saw her crossing the courtyard in a great hurry. Perhaps she had been summoned by one of her friends, or perhaps she had feared that Elia would send her straight to her septa.

But he did cross a smaller hallway and opened slightly the door of Elia's bedchamber. She looked at him from the bed and he could say that she had been crying. Of course – she had stopped taking the milk of poppy altogether and despite still being confined to her chamber, she was in possession of all her senses. She had certainly heard when the maester had worked on Carral.

"They're sleeping," Arthur said, going for the bed. "Both of them."

She nodded, fresh tears coming to her eyes. At this moment, Arthur made a decision that she should never be allowed into the nursery while Carral was receiving his treatment. She might intervene and even stop the maester. Hell, even Arthur had been tempted to do so because the manipulations applied were definitely painful.

"Was there any… effect?" Elia finally asked and Arthur took het thin hands. What should he say? Lie? The only visible effect was that after Maester Caleotte's leaving, their son had been in more pain that prior to his arrival. But according to Alric, so had been Ivorr. And the tales of how Naeryn had been taught to use the hand she had were still the stuff of legends in Dorne. The kind of legends that made one startle awake at night, brow covered in sweat.

And yet Elia's half-brother was a great captain commanding his own ship and Naeryn was one of the most coveted women in Westeros. Hardly something she could have achieved if she been lapping her food straight from the plate.

"There will be," he said, once again grabbed by the fear that instead of uniting them, the love they both felt for their son might divide them.

She sighed and moved to one side, so he could be seated more comfortably. "I know," she said. "It's just so… hard."

"Even more so when you've been fearing this birth because of their position for months," he said, unable to keep the echo of accusation out of his voice. Would she forever be like that, unable to share her most intimate fears with him?

She looked away. Slight blush rose to her cheeks but she remained silent. Arthur also chose not to chase the matter further. No one could force themselves into sharing, he knew it.

"What's going on?" he asked, nodding at the piles of parchments scattered all over the cover. Although unable to leave her bed, Elia had undertaken some of her duties once again, including looking through all the official correspondence of the Old Palace.

She rearranged herself but Arthur thought that it wasn't her position that made her uncomfortable.

"Viserys has been betrothed to Mace Tyrell's daughter," she said flatly.

Arthur knew he shouldn't be surprised and the truth was, he wasn't taken aback, exactly. The Tyrell's desire for a royal match had been well known and after their part in the last war, they felt they deserved it.

"I wanted the girl for Aegon," Elia went on, her eyes flashing. "And at one point, Rhaegar wanted that match as well. What has changed, I wonder?"

Arthur hesitated. "Maybe he thought Aegon was too young. I don't know."

Of course, that was no sound explanation and he went still, trying to figure it out. Returning his kindness, Elia did not comment his lack of good reasoning.

"At least now we know why the Tyrells were so offensive to Alaenys," she said thoughtfully. "And why Rhaegar didn't stop them until the very last day. Couldn't ruin the accord with his new family, huh?"

Despite himself, Arthur grinned. How many times had Ser Gerold scolded him for expressing sentiments like this, getting dangerously close to judging the King? And he had kept doing it anyway. There were some things that could not be carved out of a man and for any true Dornishman, hatred for the Reach was one such.

"I wonder why Rhaella didn't mention it when she was here," Elia added and sighed. "Of course, she had no reason to. She didn't ask to be put in this position but I thought that…"

Her mind was racing. Had Rhaegar lost his mind? Was he doing this on purpose, denying Aegon a powerful ally? She didn't want to believe it but what other explanation could there be? As Viserys' goodfather Mace would increase his influence greatly. And if her worst fears came to pass, he'd never ally himself with a half-Dornish prince. He could influence Viserys into supporting Lyanna's son instead. Was Rhaegar _blind_?

A missive to Oldtown was in order. But now, she would not think of that anymore. She was getting unreasonable, she could even say so herself. Instead, she patted another parchment. "Have a look."

He did and whistled. "I didn't know she could turn her back on her duty so," he commented.

"It isn't a matter of jests, Arthur!" Elia snapped.

"Who's jesting? I truly didn't know she _could_."

Once again, he started reading, this time not even looking at the courtesies. _You should_ _know, my lord, that the Sealord threw his lady wife, your noble cousin, out in a fit of rage to which he's been more prone in the last few years. When he regretted it in a week or so and tried to find her in her smaller residence, Lady Lanore wasn't there. She hasn't been seen anywhere since the day of his rage. But now, her sons also disappeared and she sent word that she would not be coming back. The Sealord is beside himself with rage. Unless the lady returns, the loan the Princess of Dorne is trying to negotiate with the Iron Bank would not be given or given under terms that would have Dorne paying for it for the next ten decades..._

Arthur could not believe his eyes. How could such a thing have happened? The worst thing was, they needed this loan. There was simply no other way to fill the treasury so they could make any profits.

No, the fact that they had no idea where Lanore Gargalen was – that was worse. How on earth could they send her back to her husband if she wouldn't come to them? _If_ Elia chose to make her go back, that was it. If the Sealord's threat wasn't just that, a threat.

"Why did Oberyn give this to you when you're still so unwell?" Arthur finally snapped, darkly satisfied that he had found something bad that he could make someone pay for. And pay for it Oberyn would.

"Do we really have to go there?" Roderic of the North asked quite nervously, giving the dragons before them a suspicious look.

"Look at the gargoyles," Naeryn told him and followed her own advice. The things' ugliness felt soothing. At least they weren't dragons, unlike anything else.

The pair headed through the gallery towards the middle wall. The black iron gates was shining as if freshly polished. Nothing about the castle, as far as Naeryn had seen in the three days after her arrival, looked neglected. But that fact didn't make it less gloomy.

"Do we?" the man insisted again. Of course, he wasn't afraid of the dragons rising bigger before them. While Naeryn had been recuperating – a sea storm was the last thing someone who had broken about all bones in their body just half a year ago needed, - he had not been so hindered. He had had the time to feed himself on a steady diet of rumours about the red horror they were going to visit.

"That's the reason for our coming here," she replied. "Stay here."

They were now at the foot of the Windwyrm Tower. The sight of the defiant dragon was one that Naeryn suddenly enjoyed. How strange!

"I am to stay here?" her Northern shadow asked, clearly disgruntled. "I am your shield, my lady, and if I can say so, now you need one more than ever."

"You cannot," she retorted but of course, he had already said it. And he had the right of it. What was she thinking? She still couldn't walk straight, for the Mother's sake! She was leaning on her left side as a drunken sailor! As much as maesters and great masters of the sword proclaimed that the ailments of the body didn't matter, Naeryn knew fully well that they did. After all, most of those men had never been significantly impeded by bodily injuries, hadn't they?

But she had come all the way from Dorne, hadn't she? She could just as well start acting because it would be a good number of months before she regained her former health – and as to her looks, that she might never reclaim! Meanwhile, a woman who was dangerous would push her way into the life on the island even more.

"She's a shadowbinder, Roderic," Naeryn said. "If she is of the mind to do something to me, it won't be anything as trivial as pushing me through the window, I assure you."

"A sorceress." His lips curled in fear and disgust. "You're going to come face to face with a sorceress. That's what she is."

"Yes," Naeryn confirmed and smiled. "But so am I."

Of course, Melisandre of Asshai had taken residence on the upper floor. Naturally! It was a good decision, making the best of the most remote place the Queen Dowager had dared send her to without insulting those who had sent her. No one in their right mind would climb all those steps, those narrow spiraling staircases unless they absolutely had to. This way, Melisandre could have her privacy. Naeryn was sorry that she couldn't take chambers on an upper floor as well but well, what was impossible was impossible.

The smell filled her nostrils even before she reached the last landing, gasping. As she leaned against the wall to catch her breath and ease the pain in her leg, she felt how this mix of aromas brought her back to Asshai – the smell of fire, cold, devotion, and magic older than Essos itself. The longing that wrapped its cloak around her was a great surprise.

There were no servants around to announce her, so Naeryn knocked at the door, waited for the duration of ten breaths, and entered. An empty antechamber. She went to the second door and repeated the procedure.

"Come in," a voice said. "I've been waiting for you."

Of course she had. The two women had spotted each other at dinner, although they hadn't exchanged any words – Melisandre sat with Rhaella's entourage while Naeryn was seated on the dais. But Naeryn had always known that Melisandre would gather the reason for her arrival without much effort.

She entered and her eyes immediately went to the great fireplace dominating the solar where the occupant knelt. The Queen had taken good care of her guest, providing her with all the luxuries of soft furs, heavy tapestries, and upholstered chairs. Melisandre would not have minded sitting on simple wood. That would be a vast improvement compared to their environment while they had studied in the Temple.

"Take a seat," Melisandre said and rose from her position. "I have to admit that you had me fooled. I really thought you were Oberyn Martell's mistress."

"I might have been," Naeryn said, choosing a chair. Her eyes studied her hostess without pretending not to. The two women hadn't seen each other in over ten years. Naeryn knew that she had changed, turned into a woman. Melisandre, though, was still the same, not having aged a day. Still stunning, red, and imposing.

Melisandre huffed. "I had no idea," she said again. "He called you _dear heart_ and was so tender with you. It didn't even occur to me that you might be a Martell."

"I am not," Naeryn reminded her.

"Right. A Gargalen, then."

Naeryn didn't correct her, as she did with almost everyone who made this slip of the tongue. Melisandre was very observant. She would pick up on Naeryn's bitterness in a way no one else would. And Naeryn was not about to give her any advantage.

"How did you procure the letter from Braavos?" she asked curiously. "Lanore – that's the Sealord's wife – would want someone like you around Elia's boy even less than I do."

Melisandre smiled. "The Sealord is not his wife," she said. "And when I came here, he and your cousin weren't on the best of terms. In fact, I'm hearing that he threw her out and she obediently disappeared – so entirely that he cannot find her."

That was news to Naeryn. It was probably also a lie thrown to make her feel concerned, lower her defences, reveal more than she intended.

For a while, they both kept their silence, waiting for the other to make the first step.

"Why are you here?" Naeryn finally asked with straightforwardness that surprised her. "Are you still looking for him – Azor Ahai?"

Melisandre slowly nodded. Her hands gripped the crimson silk of her gown, sending a faint whiff of smoke and enhancing powder towards Naeryn. "The visions have been stronger," she said. "Clearer."

"And as wrong as ever," Naeryn said softly, feeling sorry for the other woman all of a sudden. "You think that Aegon is this person, this savior. The one you've been looking for in decades. But you're wrong."

She forced herself to look Melisandre straight in the eye. The smells and red in the room made her long for Asshai all of a sudden, with all its dangers, with all misfortunes she had encountered there. With all the knowledge, both good and bad. She had never felt more alive than in her time there.

The red priestess shook her head. "I am not," she said. "I've been following Rhaegar Targaryen's steps since he decided to take Elia Martell to wife. Their son fits all the signs."

"Because Rhaegar _arranged_ it so! He shaped it so Aegon would fit the signs," Naeryn exclaimed. "He didn't happen to be born here just by chance. Or even conceived by chance!"

Melisandre narrowed her eyes but smiled anyway. "It looks like that to Elia Martell, you are not just kin but a confidant as well," she said lazily.

"It doesn't matter. If a prophecy can be fooled, then it was no real prophecy at all."

Melisandre gasped, utterly stunned for the first time since Naeryn knew her. "You are very lucky that Benerro didn't hear you! How dare you-!"

Naeryn shook her head, annoyed. "Don't go in hysterics all over me," she snapped. "For the Seven's sake, it's a good thing you don't have any worldly power, or you would have turned the world into a giant torch over any insult to your precious prophecy. Calm down. I am not saying that I don't believe in the prophecy. I do. But you're wasting your time. Aegon isn’t the one you're looking for."

Again, silence descended. They both stared out the window, to the ship that was approaching swiftly under a good wind. Naeryn hadn't been so lucky at her arrival. "The three-headed dragon," she said. "Prince Viserys is coming to visit his mother. Are you sure it isn't him that you need?"

Melisandre only gave her a stony look.

"Why are you so sure?" she asked. "Do you, by any chance, have another idea who Azor Ahai might be?"

"No!" Naeryn exclaimed.

The other woman's eyes betrayed the closest thing to pity that she was capable of. "Then, Naeryn Gargalen," she said, "I'm afraid you and Elia Martell will have to put up with me here. Because I do have an idea. And it's the right one."

Any longing for Asshai Naeryn had felt disappeared when she realized that it wasn't a threat but intention.

 

 


	3. Some Things Lost and Some Reclaimed

The route to the Tower of the Sun had never looked longer; more than once, Elia wished that she had listened to the advice that Arthur, her father and well, everyone had given her and accepted that litter. As it was, she had to make use of the benches strategically placed here and there in halls and hallways until her painful journey entered under the dome of gold and leaded glass.

"Mother, I thought I wouldn't make it!" she said faintly as soon as she caught her breath.

"At least we came here before everyone else," Arthur replied, handed her a goblet of wine and a plate of nuts left here specifically for this occasion, and eyed the carafe. _Why the hell not?_ It would be time until Elia's councilors arrived and his heart was still in his mouth with the fear that she might collapse as she walked, so he sipped some wine straight for the carafe.

The sunlight was abundant here but the way it fractured through the many coloured pieces of glass helped hide Elia's true, too pale complexion. She had taken great care with her face and clothes to look as healthy as possible and for a while, she might have some success.

The lords and ladies entered in small groups, more numerous that Arthur had gotten used to see them. Many of Elia's bannermen had arrived for the birth or rather, to be in the thick of things should it turn the way it almost had. And those closest to her had mostly stayed until she restored her health somewhat, so instead of having just one representative of the various regions, the throne room filled as if it was a regular Council Session. In a moment of negligence, Arthur caught Mikkel Gargalen's eye and was surprised and a little victorious when he got a very small incline of head. His foster father's dislike of him was well known… in certain circles.

After a swift reassurance that Elia was fine they took to business. "By now, you all know that the King has betrothed his brother to Mace Tyrell's daughter," Elia started.

Dark faces and a murmur of disgruntlement showed her that this was indeed the case. Cletus Yronwood and Ashara's husband looked especially grim but Larra Blackmont wore a small smile that showed Arthur that she must be aware of what was going on. Of course, Elia or Alric would have told Elvar Sand, Alric’s son, and he would have reassured his wife, who, as a lady of an area just to the Prince's Pass, was rightfully worried of the Tyrells' gaining more power.

"Are we going to have more attacks from the Reach now? Disguised as small problems that, of course, Prince Viserys' goodfather will expect to be solved in his favour?" Arel demanded and Arthur hid his grin. His brother was just stirring the pot, to let Elia make bigger impression. Their father had been very smart indeed to send his heir to serve Alric as his page and squire. There, Arel had learned not only the former Prince Consort’s considerable mastery of arms but his political means, his little tricks and ways to influence people. What he was doing was quite unfair and Arthur loved it. "I cannot say I have missed Martyn Mullendore, although I have heard good things about Ser Mark. My children will adore his famous monkey, I think."

Laughted echoed around but soon enough, tension returned. No one needed the imminent problems that the match would bring. No one was eager to see the more distant ones in the future either.

Elia sipped from her water. "I can offer reassurance on this count, my lord," she said, smiling. "I expect that Lord Hightower's heir will be able to keep his neighbours and bannermen in peaceful mood. We know that he's I do have his guarantees of his goodwill." She smiled again. "We're currently discussing the terms of the marriage between Baelor Hightower's second son and my daughter Rhaenys."

In the silence that followed, the play of the sun over the pieces of coloured glass turned gaping mouths red and heads shaking in disbelief green. Lord Trebor Jordayne laughed out loud, having grasped his Princess' tactics. Once kings in their own right, the Hightowers had never made it to the top again. The closest they had ever gotten to acknowledged superiority had been the Dance of the Dragons. Mace Tyrell would find himself in a right spot with his powerful vassals if he threatened the prospect of their newfound prestige. Even the Queen of Thorns would have a hard time assuaging the tension.

The discussion went on but in much softer tones now. The seneschal, Ciar, brought out the complaints of those citizens of Sunspear who felt that the changes Elia had undertaken in that part of the city that had been put to fire to demolish the deadly plague taking hold there went far beyond mere repairs and were costing them additional months of discomfort and means. They did not want the improvements she had in mind – they wanted their old shanties where the sun couldn't reach and that was it. The burst of additional popularity that Elia had enjoyed with the birth of the twins was wearing off and she was surprised to find out that it hurt a little, to feel unpopular. She had never been before and the fact that she was doing it for them and they could not see it made it all worse.

Still, she was determined to finish what she had started. "We must reassure them and tell them to have patience," she said. "It won't be long until the works are finished. They will know then how lucky they are."

Not everyone agreed but it was pointless to argue with someone who looked so determined and besides, Sunspear was the Martells' own stronghold. They would not meddle until absolutely needed.

"What about that loan from the Iron Bank?" Lord Qorgyle, newly arrived from the desert, asked and Arthur glanced at Oberyn. No, his goodbrother had not said anything to his foster father. Arthur's next look was at Lady Allyrion who met his eye with a calm smile. No, it hadn't been her either but damn it, the woman's shrewd brown eyes could pierce through one's skull. "I hear that the Sealord has started making threats."

All eyes went to Lord Gargalen who shrugged. _"_ We know just as much as any of you," he declared. "Yes, it's true that he threw my daughter out and she's vowed not to return. But she isn't here to explain her side of things, so there's little clarity. At this point, it's futile to discuss anything. We cannot give him what we don't have."

 _My lord, my lord, you make such a great liar_ , Arthur thought admiringly. Nothing in Mikkel's cool voice and serious demeanor showed that he was saying anything but the truth, yet in the very heart of Elia's chambers, Lanore lay, having collapsed in deep slumber as soon as they had taken her youngest from her tired arms. Arthur had yet to see her but he had heard Elia's handmaidens whisper that the infant could do very few of the things children this age did – he could not sit up and he would not even roll.

Murmurs arose; with a sinking heart, Arthur recognized the note he had so often heard as he stood guard at the feet of Rhaegar's throne. People were distrustful. Prince Doran had had to tread carefully, always mindful of the sentiment that he favoured his Gargalen kin greatly and unjustly. Whatever Lanore told them when she woke up, few would be those willing to take the risk of bleeding Dorne dry for the sake of a single woman, and one who had made her life in the Free Cities more than a decade and a half ago, if it came to that.

"So, what about the new watering system?" Elia asked in a firm voice that put an end to this particular discussion, for now at least.

Lanore was still sleeping when Elia entered the chamber, leaning against Arthur's arm. Her two older sons who had refused to be separated from her slept in a grown-up sized bed against the other walls but were already stirring in their sleep. Children were this resilient. Elia knew that the older boy was six but the younger one looked indeed younger than his years. And then she noticed the infant the handmaidens had brought over, and gasped. At eleven moons of age, this child was smaller than both Rhaenys and Aegon had been at six! Grey cheeks, poor little bonelike hands, eyes that held no expression… Even her Carral looked vastly better!

"But he's been starved!" Elia whispered in horror. "He's been starved!"

Her entire being was shocked by the discovery. She had seen children in this condition only when she had visited the poorest of the poor, or the orphanages taking children who were almost dead.

"He was."

Lanore's voice was hoarse with sleep, although her eyes were wide and alert. "I couldn't…" She glanced at Arthur and paused.

"Would you please get me to that chair and leave?" Elia turned to her husband and busied herself with the exact angle of the chair because she feared that she might grab her cousin and shake her until one or the other of them fainted with the effort. _Couldn't you see that this babe was starving? You're his mother!_

Near the foot of the bed, her grandmother stirred and glared behind Elia's back. Elia didn't need to turn around to know that her father and uncle were as shocked by the sight of the poor babe as she was.

"What happened?" she finally asked.

Still, her cousin took her time to answer, looking from her father to her uncle and back which in turn gave Elia time to have a look at her. In the mayhem of arrival, she hadn't paid attention but now she was terrified of just how much Lanore had aged. Once a ravishing beauty with her mother's rich auburn hair and clear blue eyes, an hourglass figure that had made men mad with desire, and a winning smile, her travails in the recent years and the three late, closely spaced births had left her with a thickened body, a lined and puffy face, and thinning hair, as well as fear that made her eyes dart constantly around, as if to detect a hidden enemy.

"What happened," she slowly said. "Sometimes, I don't know what happened. He fell from his horse, hit his head, started taking some dragon breath for the pain – and it started."

"Some _what_?" Elia asked, perplexed.

"Dragon breath," her father said behind her. "A very strong painkiller. Very addictive as well."

He came near and Lanore drew back against the wall as if she was scared that he'd strike her. Alric pretended that he hadn't noticed because she would be mortified otherwise. "He got addicted, didn't he?" he asked.

She nodded against the pillow.

"Maybe even violent?" he went on, very gently.

Her mouth trembled. Tears came to her eyes but she swallowed them back. "Yes," she whispered. "Violent and mad. Towards me and the children. Its been three years already. They are scared of him. _I_ am scared of him. When… when Oriello was born…" She looked at her infant. "He was obsessed his idea that the Iron Bank was trying to replace him with someone else."

 _No wonder_ , everyone thought. The man had come to his position after winning the support of the Iron Bank against his predecessor who had died of grief and shame, and his longtime illness when he had been told that he'd be pushed off his chair. The new Sealord had celebrated his coming into position by taking his former rival's widow, Lanore, to be his own wife.

"He thinks that the Iron Bank just wants to do away with him and his. He became obsessive with his safety. He had the boys followed everywhere. And he didn't let anyone but me nurse Oriello. I cried and I begged, and I said that I didn't make enough milk but he wouldn't hear. After he had a maidservant flogged for nursing him, no one would dare. I didn't know what to do, I tried to give him cow and goat milk but it also made him sick…"

Elia's bile rose and even Alric couldn't hide his horror and distaste. The Sealord had left his son starve to death just because…? But with addictive potions, there was never such a thing as _just because_.

"He also started suspecting me," Lanore went on. "In all kind of affairs. Had me followed to find out who my lover was. Came to my chambers unexpectedy at night and started searching for him, sword in hand. Last time, he went furious that he couldn't find him and descended upon me." Her voice shook. "The First Sword barely managed to tear him off me. He threw me out that same night. But not before leaving me a memento."

Everyone in the chamber gasped, save for Daella. She had been here all the time her granddaughter had spent tossing and turning, so she must have seen the memento in question.

"I am not going back," Lanore declared, her eyes suddenly bright, defiant. "I am not going back, no matter what you say. Even if I am unwelcome here or at Salt Shore, I'd rather beg my bread by the side of the road than return!"

Elia wanted to tell her that she wouldn't have to return, never, but the words refused to leave her mouth. Could she really assure Lanore of something that might turn out to be a lie? The Sealord still had great influence over the Iron Bank and from there, over the whole Essos and a good deal of Westeros as well. Could she risk Dorne even for Lanore?

"You won't have to," Mikkel said sharply but Elia caught the traitorous note of hesitation in his voice. Lanore also did because she closed her eyes and tugged the cover higher, as if to protect herself.

"Indeed she won't." There was something feral in Daella's voice. Her kind eyes shone with the dark glint of a blade as she landed them upon her sons and then Elia. Never before had she looked at her like this. "She's staying. If someone wants to send her anywhere, they can do it only over my dead body. She's staying, no matter what."

"Fifty days and fifty nights did he labour and as R'hllor lit the day for a fiftieth time and one was the sword ready…"

Rhaella didn't need to hear more: she pushed the door open and didn't bother to hide her displeasure, giving the red priestess a level look. "I have not approved of any additions to the children's lessons, Lady Melisandre," she said coldly, wondering how the woman had gained access in the very chamber lessons were taking place. There were servants everywhere. The children's attendants. The guards. Jaime Lannister standing in front of this very door, by the Mother! How had everyone come to just let her come in? She might have easily killed Aegon upon the spot had she wanted to!

The round chamber had once housed Rhaella's own lessons when she had been a child and visiting Dragonstone. Her dragon blood had always welcomed the particular heat to this room compared to the rest of the castle. The windows were high and the sun topped the entire chamber, lending warm lustre to the woooden floor and turning the ferocious dragon heads that were the backs of settees and chairs into sweet pets.

Never before had Rhaella envisioned the place as dangerous. The red woman who bowed was scaring enough by herself, bringing memories of Aerys' fires – but what scared Rhaella most was the fact that both Aegon and Daenerys stared at Melisandre with fascination so rapt that at this moment, nothing else existed, nothing by her. Horrified, Rhaella stepped back. 'Daenerys!" she cried out. "Aegon!"

Her voice startled the children out of their rapture and they ran for her, thrilled to see her. She wanted to hold them tight but instead turned to the red woman, having found her self-possession and regal bearing once again. "You're going too far, my lady," she warned. 'Should I find you around the Prince or Princess once again without having my personal permission, you'll be treated as any threat against the Prince of Dragonstone should be treated. I did not take them here so that everyone can dance in. Take this into account."

The red priestess bowed her head. "My lady, I will."

 _I wish_ , Rhaella thought. Lady Melisandre well knew that she'd never grant her permission to visit Aegon, let alone tell him her tales. And she wanted to gain access to him. Truly wanted it.

"She wasn't dangerous to us," the boy said abruptly. "She's kind. And she tells us some very interesting stories."

Rhaella's skin crawled. It would be better if Aegon could be kept away from Melisandre's kindness. "You may leave, my lady," she said and went to the window, trying to compose herself. She heard the clicking of the door and barely stopped herself from going out there and giving Jaime Lannister an earful before going to the maester and doing the same. The children had been supposed to have a lesson with him, not the Asshai woman, so why was she here and he was not? And where by the Crone was Naeryn? The only reason Rhaella had accepted this girl whose presence unsettled her was that Naeryn had been supposed to keep Melisandre of Asshai away!

One look out the window gave her the answer to her last question. Naeryn stood in the middle of the yard facing the Stone Drum. She had probably intended to go up here before she was delayed. Rhaella gasped when she saw the reason for this delay. Her son, all but fifteen, stood facing the young woman. He was half a head taller than her already and he was talking to her animatedly, his face lit up with awe and eagerness that Rhaella had seen every so often on the faces of boys this age. And watching from behind the glass, she realized all of a sudden that Naeryn no longer keeled to her left so much, that her face was restored to a great deal of its former beauty, with added paleness that made her look as delicate as a brilliant, cold snowflake, and that instead of someone whose hair had barely started growing, she could pass for a woman with an exquisite way of tying her headdresses over her head.

Only the thought that Melisandre looked slightly distressed by Naeryn's presence stopped Rhaella from ordering Aelinor's daughter back to Dorne right now.

 

 


	4. New Spring and New Promise

From Sunspear to Godsgrace and beyond, the shores of the Greenblood were black with people who waved hats and veils, screaming themselves hoarse by shouting Elia's name. Sandy Dornishmen, deep brown and so thrilling to her as a child, much more than the salty ones from who she was also descended. She had no idea how they knew who traveled in the ship with no crest on the sails but they knew, they had learned somewhere, and they had all gathered to greet her. All of a sudden, her eyes welled up. The initial havoc accompanying her stepping in her new role had kept her at Sunspear and the Water Gardens and the trials of the new swelling with child had prevented her from venturing further even when everything had calmed down, so now it was the first time after her journey to Sunspear that she could finally let her eyes feast in the land that had dwelled in her dreams and memories, the one that would always hold her heart. And the people of Dorne to which she also belonged shouted and applauded her, accepting her despite the fact that this far, she had only done what every decent ruler would have done, restoring peace and law within Dorne's borders. Again and again, one cry arose, echoing strangely twisted over the twirling expanse of the river. "The Seven keep our princess, Arianne's daughter!"

"They love you," Arthur said, smiling, and wrapped a heavy cloak around her shoulders. He had long ago despaired of getting her inside, so all that he could now was protect her from the cold wind.

"I have yet to do anything for them," Elia replied. She knew that she had already done a lot, saving them from the Iron Throne's direct control, providing them with an heir and now, with two more children of her bereaved line and yet, it didn't feel like it. She still felt in their debt. There was still so much to do. "Where is Master Sidor?"

Shortly after, the Stormlander appeared, negotiating the unstable deck with wide confident strides. In the last year or so, Elia had found out that the architect Stannis Baratheon had sent her was also a visionary with some very intriguing ideas of how various town should be developed. Did he hide a talent for sea-faring under his so ordinary exterior as well? Elia would have gladly paid Lord Baratheon a small fortune if only he decided that he didn't need Sidor's services anymore. But he wouldn't be this stupid.

"A good river you have here, my lady," he said approvingly as soon as he came within talking distance. His contrived attempts at courtesy always amused her because she could swear they stemmed from the fact that she was a woman, more than anything else. She could only imagine how his exchanges with his lord went. From Alaenys' letters, she knew that her cousin was very appreciative of the Onion Knight who didn't sound like a man skilled at courtly flatteries. Alaenys would like Master Sidor as well.

"Do you think you can do something for cleaning the bed for real?" Elia asked.

He looked troubled. "My lady, I know what I said but at the time, I didn't know Dornish rivers were quite this deep. Cleaning the beds in depth might prove trickier than I thought…"

"Yet it must be done," Elia said. The maesters and her own men who knew something of such things predicted that without a good cleaning every year, one of the following years would see great floods.

"More expensive as well," he said after a brief pause.

Elia was totally unsurprised. She had learned that when people paused after saying that something would be trickier, they usually followed it with "more expensive, as well". Alyse Ladybright would fly into a fury. Wisely, Elia hadn't included the woman in her entourage.

As Master Sidor drew some sketches murmuring to himself and muttering curses from time to time, clearly forgetting that he had a lady standing right next to him, Elia tried to calculate just how she should divide the expenses so all the major rivers could get their beds cleaned. Alas, probably nothing could be done for the lesser ones.

For this year. As Doran had used to say, he would take the risk of turning bannermen and smallfolk alike against him if there was no other choice but there probably was, in most cases. He just had to find it. If she could succeed with the major rivers this year, next year it would be easier to both clean them and have the lesser ones cleaned as well. Financing part of the enterprise and forcing the lords and ladies who claimed ownership of the waters pay the other part. She smiled a little. Yes. That was what she would do.

Godsgrace was the last stop in her journey. To her relief, the celebrations marking her visit were quite small – Ryon Allyrion was clearly made aware that she could not stay in public for long. His mother who resided in Sunspear, or in other words, wherever Elia's uncle resided, must have been resolved not to have the Lady of Dorne fainting in Godsgrace out of sheer exhaustion.

"Ready to return to Sunspear with me?" she heard Oberyn ask the young Daemon Sand.

"Oh yes!" the boy answered with readiness that made Elia wonder whether Lady Ynys made him feel unwelcome here. While she would not be allowed to be openly resentful of her husband's bastard, it was more than possible that she disliked his presence into their lives, despite the fact that Ryon had fathered him well before his marriage to her, when he had been still in another betrothal.

"Why so thoughtful, Princess?" their host's voice startled her in the pause between the music pieces.

She smiled a little. "I was just lost in the past," she answered truthfully.

"I see." Shades of that past flickered behind his eyes as he spoke in a softer tone. "I thought that your entourage might include… someone else."

Elia startled again. Had his mother actually left written evidence of what was going on? She'd have to have words with the woman. "She isn't here," she said firmly.

He nodded. "Until you decide what to do with her, I guess?" he asked and looked up to make sure that his wife was not within earshot. "Does the Sealord still insist that she returns?"

Suddenly angry, Elia tightened her lips. Damn it, she would not be interrogated as if he had any right to demand answer! He had lost this right when he had broken his promise to Lanore.

His lips pressed together as he weighed her silence. He barked out a laugh. "The poor man has no idea what he's so insistent to bring upon his head. I guess that if she returns, he'll be happy for a month or two before she makes his life hell. Lanore is uncapable of forgiving."

 _Because forgiveness is something that you feel you're entitled to?_ Elia wanted to snap. Rhaegar had been this way as well. And while at the time she had felt that Lanore had been too obstinate for her own good, now she could sympathize with her cousin's feeling of betrayal. Obstinate? Ha! Lanore had dissolved her betrothal to Ryon over her father's objections and pressure. Elia could testify under an oath that Aegon the Conqueror himself would have found it hard to withstand her uncle's pressure, meaning that Lanore had been indeed determined and exceedingly brave if she could hold her own and not dance on her father's tune. Oh, she had forced Ryon to annul the betrothal because Mikkel wouldn't do it and she had no authority in the matter but those close to them knew the truth – that she was no dishonoured lady who had to suffer rejection.

"Forgive me if I cannot feel too much pity," Elia said icily, meaning both men – Ryon Allyrion and the Sealord alike. And then, she smiled, the memory of Lanore's firmness in the face of the entire world telling her that she was just a spoiled child who wanted the world on a plate giving her an idea of what to do about her cousin's current predicament. It would not make Lanore look good – but it might just work.

The spring grew green and joy and the Stormlands waited. Those who conducted business at Storm's End all asked the same question when passing through the massive gates. The people in the smaller buildings looked up at the drum tower eagerly but it remained stubbornly peaceful. New rumours abounded every day and some of them were even true – that Lord Baratheon and Maester Cressen despaired of Lady Alaenys' refusal to rest sufficiently. Indeed, she was on her feet all day long, or so the rumours went. She chafed at the confinement that was customary for women of high birth, proclaiming that she'd die of boredom well before her time came, which horrified her attendants and the maester as being utterly unbefitting and very irresponsible of her and made people wonder whether her dates had not been placed wrongly. Surely no mother who was expecting any moment now would prefer tiring herself with refurnishing than saving her strength for the greatest trial in her life? But when the castle awoke at the news that Lady Aelinor Targaryen had arrived and the outlandish attires of her Dornish attendants appeared in the hallways, everyone knew for sure that it would happen very soon.

Alaenys did not know how to take her mother's arrival, especially at seeing Stannis' content at the news. "Just in time," he announced. "Your lady mother will send you straight to the settee, Alaenys, you'll see."

"My lady mother has given birth to two sons and three daughters, my lord, so she'll understand how I feel," Alaenys said firmly but inside, she was not so sure at all.

"Do I look too big?" she asked anxiously as soon as she was left alone with Aelinor. The news of Elia's small son had arrived in the worst possible time, heightening her own fears of the upcoming birth. What if it turned out that she, too, was carrying twins? She was a twin herself, albeit a half of an overwhelmingly robust pair. What if her babe sustained injury like Elia's had? Stannis would not say anything to her but she knew of the rumours spreading in the castle – that her womenfolk's praised fertility came at a price, that too many of their children were born unhealthy. That intensified the tension between her and Stannis to an almost feverish pitch and while she did everything Maester Cressen said she needed to in order to provide an optimal positioning of the babe, she did not feel any real change. Stannis' fears manifested themselves into his obsessive insistence of her rest; her own took the shape of moving as much as she felt comfortable with, proving that she was not suffering a hard time like Elia and was like her mother instead. Family history had it that Aelinor's pains with Alaenys and Aegyl had started during her morning ride.

She wasn't sure what she expected. An immediate reassurance that she was just as big as she should be, perhaps. Instead, Aelinor gave her a long examining look before shrugging. "You look just fine to me for a woman so far along. And yes, of course you look too big. I don't think I've seen you in any other way but with a concave belly since you were two."

A startled laugh flew out of Alaenys' lips. Somehow, her mother's practical attitude was more soothing than all the nervous reassurances she and Stannis gave each other that everything was progressing just as it should. "Oh Mother! I'm so happy you came."

"I wouldn't stay away," Aelinor said, smiling. "When a woman gives birth for the first time, she needs someone more experienced of her family close by. The Seven know how relieved I was that I had your grandmother and aunts so close by at the time I had Naeryn."

"Were you scared?"

Aelinor nodded, addressing the specific fears her daughter would not say aloud. "More than anything. I didn't know who my babe's father was. People were turning their backs to me. I was scared that I'd give birth to a monster because Maelys Blackfyre could be the father, and even more scared that the babe would be a monster because I hated it so much." She paused. "I was always scared of the shock at her birth repeating at my next ones, yet it never did. It won't repeat for you either, Alaenys."

"How do you know?" the young woman asked desperately.

"Because you're young. You're strong. Such things are so rare. It's your fear talking. All will be fine."

"Elia…"

"Elia just had a bad luck. Or a very good one, since she and the babes are alive. Yes, a very good luck indeed. I had no problems in your birth and anyway, you're carrying just one babe, and easily. Why are you scared of her circumstances repeat?"

Alaenys thought over that. She desperately wanted to believe her mother's reassurances but her fear was just too great.

Elia peeked from behind the curtain, leaving the sun to bathe her face for a while. She did not relish the thought that she'd have to order her bannermen to part with a substantial piece of their income for her project of cleaning the river beds. Hell, even Arel Dayne might object! Her uncle would support her, of course, but it was easy for him to do so. _He_ had no major river running through his domains. Lady Delonne might object, though. Elia was planning to cover a bigger part of House Allyrion's expenses, simply because they had two rivers to take care of, which would enrage the other lord and ladies affected by her plans. The next few days were not something she looked forward to.

Behind her, a soft mewling came. She turned back to the cradle where the recently fed babes slept. To her relief, Carral was sleeping soundly. It was just Myriah who whimpered in her sleep. Elia turned back to the window.

A moment later, she whirled about, horrified, and almost fell flat on her face because her recovery still wouldn't let her such swift motions without making her dizzy. _Just_ Myriah? Had she really thought that? She crossed the nursery as fast as she could, and felt immensely guilty when she saw that her daughter was still crying and squirming. As usual, Carral slept his twin's distress away, this time not suffering any pain at all. Elia reached over and her head swam. Fortunately, the babe was not out of the cradle yet, so she fell on her back without hurting herself but the sudden movement turned her cries into a desperate, endless wail. Scared and shaken herself, Elia was about to call for the nursemaid when Rhaenys rushed into the room, her face still hot from her staying outside. "Here," she said breathlessly, taking Myriah out. "Give her to me."

Petrified with fear and remorse, Elia watched as Rhaenys soothed Myriah quite expertly. "Here," the girl said, content. "Do you see, Mama? She likes me."

"She does," Elia managed to say.

"She's my babe," Rhaenys said proudly. "And Carral is yours."

Elia was left speechless because her daughter's innocent words were not so different from the thought that had sent her to the cradle as fast as possible.

 

 


	5. Remedies Right and Wrong

Before going through the iron-studded door leading from a small courtyard to the heart of the Princess' own chambers, Lanore Gargalen suddenly halted to a stop, so Alynna nearly trod over her cousin's heel. "What?" Alynna asked.

"The almonds," Lanore replied.

"Ah."

The Water Gardens might be famous for their wealth of blood oranges and Dorne as a whole might take pride in their olive trees but the small almond grove in the garden that was used almost exclusively as a place for respite by the rulers of Dorne and their family were something Alynna and her cousins all held dear.

"There are no almond-trees in Braavos," Lanore went on. "I don't know why. There just aren't any."

"I didn't know."

Lanore turned slightly away, her eyes still staring at the trees, now blooming. "I tried to cultivate them in my garden," she said slowly. "It never worked. Sometimes, they did bloom but always, always frost killed them. Sometimes, I dreamed of these trees here and I woke up with yearning in my heart." She sighed. "Never mind that. I'm just being stupid."

Perhaps she was but when Alynna looked at the beauty in rosy and white unfurling itself around her, she, too, could swear that she could hear whispers and laughter from those trees, glimpse the shadow of a time long gone.

Lanore entered the building without looking back. From time to time, she stopped in the hallways to stare at the works of art. Many of them had been crafted by her late brother, Alynna's first husband – things he had seen, flights of his imagination, people he had loved. She quickly looked away from her own bust, the beauty Errol had recreated by memory. For a moment, Alynna detected her once fine features beneath the gross flesh, the ghost of this former outstanding loveliness coming to life with the grief for the young and talented man they had both loved.

Lanore touched a latch.

At the opening of the door, the little boy gurgled with joy and immediately reached out to his mother and then his source of food. Lanore laughed with joy. In less than a month, her son had started getting better. Now, he looked merely starved and not at the Stranger's door.

Alynna unlaced her bodice and sighed with great relief when the small mouth immediately found the nipple. "Thanks for letting me borrow him," she said lazily, her eyes closed in pure bliss. "He's a great cure."

Lanore laughed disbelievingly. "By the Seven, Alynna! You were last close to your children almost three months ago! What are you made of?"

Alynna made a face. "Milk," she replied ruefully. While grateful that she had always had milk to feed all her children, the fact that she kept having it long after her babies had many of their teeth was pretty uncomfortable, let alone painful. Her body would not hear that her children no longer needed fountains of milk – not that they had ever needed all the liquid that just kept pouring off her. No matter how tight she tightened her breasts up, no matter how many weeks and even months she had not fed, her milk would stop whenever it was ready to. And meanwhile it _hurt_.

"I see," her cousin murmured. "It's strange, isn't it," she went on. "How you have milk despite your efforts to stop it and I don't have enough, no matter how much milk I drink and how much fine meals I have." She grimaced, looking at herself with clear disgust. "I swear, there were times when I ate myself sick. All for naught. Look at me now!"

As Naeryn had been making her agonizing, slow recovery, Alynna had witnessed her horror at the thought that her skin might never heal, almost as strong as her dread that she might not recover her health. Losing her looks would be sheer torture for any woman, yet looking at Lanore now, she was stricken just how much _smaller_ her cousin looked. She had grown so stout that it was impossible to say precisely but it looked like she had shed about two stones, in less than a month. That meant that in another month or two, she'd look quite presentable. The lines on her face had smoothed over somewhat and her pallor was no longer this eminent. Being back home seemed to have invigorated her. She no longer looked up in panic each time the door opened – but she was far from calm. In her place, Alynna would not have been calm either. _She should never go back_ , she thought but all the stories she had heard, about the way their grandmother had been handed back to the husband who had killed their unborn babe with his fists returned to her mind with vehement insistence. With politics, one could never be sure. Even Elia was more distant, focusing on her son's health and her own, making up for her short absence from the meeting of her council, and… hiding something from them, each time the matter of Lanore came up.

Soon, it had to come to an end. By now the Sealord had undoubtedly learned of his wife's arrival here. It was just a matter of time until Elia had to make the choice: Lanore or the crucial loan.

"I am not going back," Lanore claimed that night, as she always did when the matter of her circumstances was brought up. "No matter what you say."

Her father sighed. "I shudder each time I hear you say, 'No matter what you say.' Because you really mean it. I think you're the only person I know who I can really say that about."

Elia and Alynna looked at each other. Their uncle's words were clearly not a compliment but they could not say whether they were a reproach either.

Lanore took them this way. "Fortunately, you don't have to take them into account, right, Father? You can simply ship me off back to him. Well, I won't have it!"

"No one is going to ship you off anywhere," Daella snapped. "As long as I draw _breath_."

Her eyes, deeply sunken under the sagging skin, flashed with the violet anger she was not willing to hide those days. Her hand gripped the necklace she was wearing – if Alynna was not mistaken, that was a jewel her grandmother had never put on in her life. Prince Maekar's gift for his daughter. His attempt to assuage his guilt over sending her back to her violator. Mikkel got the hint and went pale. Everyone realized that any attempt to return Lanore to Braavos would be met with Daella unleashing a storm over their heads. The old woman would not accept even a provisional return until an accident for the unworthy husband could be arranged. Not that they would make Lanore do it unless as an absolutely last resort. But Daella would not accept any _unless_.

"How much do you care about your reputation?" Elia asked.

Everyone went silent, waiting to hear why she was asking… an answer.

"Quite a lot," Lanore replied carefully. "Why?"

"Because I was wondering whether we can't make your husband want to get rid of _you_."

There was a small flash of interest in Lanore's tired blue eyes. "Go on."

"Your husband has been suspecting you in all indiscretions and affairs imaginable. What if we feed him rumours that he's right in his distrust of you? If we get him convinced, he might prove unwilling to take you back. His reputation will suffer. How can he be expected to deal with the affairs of Braavos if he cannot even deal with his own wife's affairs? If we fan the flames carefully enough, he might be _forced_ to keep you away."

And then the Iron Bank would most certainly balk at having a good loan slip out of their hands just because of the Sealord's attempt to be a man in their affairs when he could not be one in his own bedchamber. Especially if carefully chosen words were whispered into some particular ears. Lanore slowly began to smile. As disgusting as the idea was, clashing with her pride and her sense of right and wrong, she knew that this time, it wasn't about her wishes. It was about her life or death. Her children's lives or death. Returning to Braavos would bring them nothing but doom.

Encouraged by her smile, Elia pressed on. "We know you did nothing wrong. You know this. What does it matter what people say about you in Braavos? No one can prove that your children aren't his which is the only thing that matters."

Lanore ground her teeth. It was true, and yet… Her pride roared in her blood, telling her that she should not demean herself so when it was her husband who was in the wrong. To be talked about at the markets of Braavos! By the Mother, that was more than she could bear.

"I've heard about your friendship with a certain owner of an arms school," Oberyn supplied. "The Dark Blade, I believe he's called. You've already caused some talks with your inadvertent closeness to him…" He paused and looked at his cousin expectantly.

And Lanore burst out laughing. That was rich. Of all the men in Braavos! She laughed and laughed until her sides hurt. "Your spies has served you well," she said when she could finally take breath. "But for some unknown reason, they haven't gleaned out the most important part of it. No, Cousin. I am not having an affair with him. Both of my husbands, though… they were not big on discreet." To her horror, tears of anger and humiliation ran down her cheeks.

Mikkel sighed. "You've been weird since you were but a babe in the cradle," he said. "Weeping over the most ridiculous things and not even blanching at some that would reduce a grown man to tears." But there was no reproach in his voice. "As if it's such a big deal that your men slept with other women. It isn't as if your lover has abandoned you."

"As you know," Lanore sniffed, "I have no lover."

"That's where the mistake comes in," her father enlightened her. "If you had had one some years ago, you wouldn't have been sniveling now. I regret letting your mother and that damned septa be the only ones responsible for your education in certain matters. They left you half-educated, this much is clear."

Indeed, had Lanore been a different woman, she might have now had a great standing in Braavos. She would have been a mother to the heir of the former Sealord, a boy who would have been almost a man. Instead, she had clung to her honour.

Since her father was undoubtedly right, she chose to ignore his remark. Instead, she concentrated on more pressing concerns. "He can even repudiate me on the grounds of me being a degenerate," she said. "The Seven know that there are enough gods and priests in Braavos to grant him such a thing. But will my children be declared bastards? It's too much of a risk. He has appointed too many unworthy people on too high offices. Half of the ruling men in Braavos will support him in whatever he sets his mind to!"

"The outcome will be determined by the other half," Elia assured her. "Those we have influence upon. As well as the Red Temple. As we know, he cannot survive if he tries to obtain anything of the kind from any other god but R'hllor. The priests will refuse to bastardize your boys, and that's all there is to it. Or else, I will reconsider my interest in letting Dorne know more about their faith."

It was a true sign of Lanore's desperation that she didn't lash out at the scandalous suggestions her family laid out. At night, she might toss in bed and bite her sheets in impotent anger – but now, there were more important things than her pride at the stake. She smiled, although it pained her – a smile of reluctant admiration. "That's a reasonable idea," she managed. "And you know what? Aunt Arianne would have also said it was reasonable."

"I wonder what Naeryn is going to say," Oberyn murmured, a little relieved that she wasn't around to say it. "According to her, the best way to deal with the red priests is to keep them at bay."

"She's been sick again, hasn't she?"

The older woman's voice was so lacking in concern that Stannis looked up again to make sure that she realized what was going on. "She – is going to give birth – any day now," he said slowly, as if she were stupid. "This isn't like the first few months. It isn't common."

Aelinor sighed impatiently. During her brief acquaintance with her goodson she had already learned that common was soothing to him. She had nothing against that. It was his inclination not to be able to wrap his head around the idea that deviations didn't necessarily mean a bad thing that had set her to alert.

"It is," she said. "Each woman is different. Her body has started preparing itself for the upcoming change. Did she manage to drink some mulled wine or water afterwards?"

"Yes," he replied.

"See? She's fine. At the moment, keeping her water down is more important than keeping her food down."

He nodded, as if she made perfect sense. "People can go on without food for a long time indeed," he said bleakly. "Without water, though…"

"Yes," Aelinor said briskly. He would be humiliated if he felt her sympathy, yet right now it flowed. She was well aware of how his role in the war had been overlooked, for battle glory was the only thing that mattered. Just like Ser Barristan and the rest of those who had distinguished themselves in the War of the Ninepenny Kings had returned heroes – and she had returned already dubbed as Maelys' whore. "What did you do for her?" she asked.

He blinked. "What did I do? Why, what _could_ I do? I tried to get her go to bed and when she started going white, I tried to set her mind at rest. It didn't help much," he admitted.

Aelinor sipped at her tea with lack of concern that was quite infuriating.

"Of course it didn't. I have no doubt that you meant well but you made a mistake by constantly reminding Alaenys of her state. That just made her think about that more and of course, she felt faint and sick. Just let her be. She and the babe will be fine."

They both jumped in their seats when right over their heads, the ceiling shook with clatter that wouldn't stop. Someone was pushing furniture this way and that and Aelinor immediately pressed her hands over her ears while Stannis send a servant to inquire what was going on.

"What?" he asked, his astonishment evident. "My lady is doing what?"

"Rearranging the nursery, my lord. The entire floor, in fact. She ordered her women summon a few hale men and…"

Stannis looked helplessly at his goodmother for explanation. "In no more than week," she said calmly. "If she's feeling the urge to make a better hollow for her bear cub, it'll be very soon indeed."

"No bear!" he snapped.

"Sorry, sorry. I meant a stag," Aelinor checked herself.

"It doesn't matter if it's a stag! She should be in bed, resting."

Her tolerance was getting short. "Won't you stop already!" she exclaimed. "One way or the other, soon she will be in this bed _and_ scream her head off. Why are you so insistent on pushing her there now?"

He had no answer and she sighed, exasperated. When Alaenys' time came, she would have this smuggler knight of his – a very sensible man, in her opinion – take him into a smaller hall as far from the birthing chamber as possible and get him drunk. In fact, she was sorely tempted to start the process now. Why did Stannis Baratheon stick his nose in this? It was a women task. He had done his job nine months ago. But since this time he didn't retort, she decided to spare him the advice she was itching to dispense: that he might try to get Alaenys' labour start sooner by fulfilling his marital duty. It had worked two times for her. Or at least, it had given her delight and the arrival of her children in the very next day had been a joyous coincidence.

The sudden silence over their heads told her that there was no need of such means. She hurried upstairs to find the maidservants running around crying for Alaenys' attendants, and the bulky men looking away, red-faced, as if they thought that the huge wet stain on her daughter's skirts meant that she had wetted herself.

"You will not find it here."

Slowly, Melisandre rose from her crouch. In the flicker of the flame dancing over the small enclosed place, Naeryn saw her suggestion confirmed.

"Queen Visenya had a sword of her own," she said, looking at the urn that contained the Queen's ashes. "Dark Sister, it was named. My grandmother has seen it. It doesn't fit the description. Too short. Too slender. I've read the copies of many of the books my grandmother took to Dorne. Visenya Targaryen was a woman of strong passions. And Dark Sister was one of the things she was passionate about. She doesn't sound like someone who would be entrusted with keeping another sword in safe possession. Even if that sword is Lightbringer."

The red priestess nodded grimly.

"I believe that the new Azor Ahai will have a Lightbringer entirely of his own," Naeryn went on. "Not find the old one. I believe it's lost forever. It might have even been destroyed."

Melisandre shook her head. "It cannot be destroyed. The temper was too strong."

"Anyway, I believe it has played its part."

"Perhaps." Melisandre's tone held reluctance that was greater than Naeryn would have expected. A new sword would be just as good as an old one. And then realization shook her. They both knew how the first Lightbringer had been tempered. A new one would mean… new tempering. Naeryn's mind reeled at the thought of Aegon being led into believing that he was the new savior who had to kill his beloved.

"But enough about me," Melisandre said. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Naeryn laughed. "Visiting family," she said nonchalantly. Indeed, Visenya would be a preferable company to Viserys whom she could not even dissuade from his interest properly, and the Queen Dowager who glared at her as if she was the one mooning over Rhaella's precious boy and not the other way round! At least Visenya was safely dead.

"Family," Melisandre repeated slowly. Indeed, Naeryn was of the dragon line – and the sun and spear, through Aelinor Gargalen. Blood of father, blood of mother, doubly royal. Triply if Maelys' blood flowed through Naeryn's veins as well. Melisandre looked at the wall at her left. She could not see the stone dragons, of course, but she could imagine them looking at her.

Unlike many people, Naeryn had never felt any fear of underground enclosed spaces. As a child, she had welcomed them. They had been her refuge when she had wanted to hide from the shocked eyes of the people she had just met or just stay alone where she couldn't be find after a new upsetting failure to do something that children younger than her did effortlessly. Outlined by the torchlight, she had no idea of the thoughts her fair figure brought to Melisandre's mind: _that must_ _have been_ _what Aegon's Rhaenys looked like…_

"I'll see you in the hall," Naeryn said. "I'll be with Aegon," she added, pointedly. It was a good thing that she had not expected the red priestess to falter at this reminder who was allowed into the young prince's present because Melisandre didn't falter.

"Finally!" Roderic greeted her as she emerged in the yard. "A fisherman came to seek you for his goat… they have learned in the village that you have a touch with animals…"

She gave him a dark look. "Had too much in the local tavern?" she asked and he blushed. Naeryn huffed but made no comment. When in his cups, he was keen to extoll her virtues to everyone who would hear him out… and many who wouldn't. It was annoying, yet she couldn't be truly angry with him. He was fond of his lady. Proud of her. She wondered why he had not taken a wife. He would have been great at fatherhood.

"I'll never know why a lady like you would go to the pen," he added.

"No," she agreed. "You won't know."

A week ago, she had traveled around the island in her litter but she had not been strong enough to make a longer transition on foot. She looked with interest at the small market, the tiny but whitewashed houses, the cattle greeting their passing with bleating. This was not unlike the fishing village near Salt Shore, up to the barefoot children coming to a halt in the street to stare at her and she felt a small stir of warmth within her breast. _I could get used to living here_ , she thought.

One look at the sick goat showed her what the problem was but she poked slightly to make sure. The she-goat bleated, shaking her head, and Naeryn narrowly avoided the impact. Roderic leaned forward and was about to drag her on her feet but she asked him to open her bag for her; clearly reluctant, he did.

"Come on," Naeryn said. "Someone give me a warm wet cloth. With some ministrations, she will be a source of much milk once again very soon."

"If she tries something like that again, she'll become a source of much meat," he replied, giving the goat a warning look. She didn't even bleat, she was so unimpressed, but the housewife gasped indignantly.

Feeling the soothing wetness of the cloth, the she-goat bleated gratefully and licked Naeryn's stump with an uneven tongue. It was weird how most animals went straight for the stump. It was as if they felt the weakness in her flesh just like she felt it in theirs.

"Wash her udder twice a day like this," Naeryn said. "Gently but for a long time. And milk her often. Five times a day, at least. Don't rub the udder, it's bad for her right now. I'll tell you when you can safely do it. I'll show you how."

The ruddy woman gaped at her. "You mean you will come again?"

"Of course I will. I'll come in three days to see how she's doing. If there's a problem, seek me out in the castle. I will come."

The housewife shook her head in disbelief, taking Naeryn's fine dress and headdress in. Neither of them was fitting for court but to this woman, they might have been a queen's attire. "The Lord of Light has sent you to us, my lady," she whispered.

Naeryn stiffened. All of a sudden, she realized that keeping Aegon away from Melisandre didn't mean keeping him out of her sphere of influence. Not in the least.

 


	6. Sneaking Shadows

The voices were still quite measured but Elia could say it wouldn't last long. The beginning of a headache was not helping and neither was the sharp pain in her breasts that were only kept from swelling with milk by the tight bandages. She had the feeling that Lord Uller's eyes were tearing her apart, although he kept himself under perfect control.

"Would you hear us out, my Princess?" Lady Allyrion asked, very politely. "That's all we want."

"I am listening."  _But that's now what you want, my lady. I am hearing you loud and clear, this isn't the problem. You want me to agree._

"We're doing our best to manage the rivers and keep them clean and navigable. Why this interest all of a sudden? Have we done something to make you distrust our judgment?"

Elia took a moment to admire the lady's wits. Around them, the lords and ladies in the throne room stirred uncomfortably. Distrust in one's judgment was the worst blow a liege could deal to their bannermen and the eyes going to Elia were rather hostile, mostly.

The two women, one young and slowly clawing her way back to bloom and the other old, headed for the end, rather than a new start, stared at each other. They were both dark of hair and eye, although Lady Delonne did have some white in her hair that she did not try to hide. Elia was shrinking back to her almost emaciated appearance while age and childbirths had left Lady Allyrion quite portly. Everyone around fell silent, feeling that in this battle of wills Lady Delonne, one of the Martell's longtime staunchest supporters, had the best chance to convince the Princess of not doing something that would be far from beneficial to their purse.

"You haven't," Elia replied firmly. "None of you. I appreciate your efforts to keep everything about your domains in good condition. But it can now be done in a more effective manner where river beds are concerned and I believe it's our duty to do it. Weather is getting more unpredictable; should the rivers overflow, it won't be just our crops and trade that would be endangered. Many people might lose their homes and even their lives." She paused. "I'd like to present to you the letters I've received from fishermen and farmers who work ashore."

In her heart of hearts, she was singing Ellaria's praises for offering that they use the complaints and pleas for help from locals to strengthen their case. Now, her seneschal read them loud and clear and she noticed the covert looks the lords and ladies of the pertinent regions exchanged. The fact that there was less fish and more overflowing could not be good for anyone.

"That merits some serious consideration, my lady," Lord Uller finally said.

"I agree, Lord Harmen," Elia managed through the pain in her breasts that was becoming sharper. She sipped from her water and smiled a little. "I recognize that I expect a lot of you," she said. "And since the wish of Sunspear is not to lay burden on anyone without sharing, naturally I'll cover a certain part of the expenses. I believe that keeping our smallfolk safe and our rivers full is of utmost importance to each one of us and Dorne herself."

She did not want to give them time to sleep on it because the fear of the immediate impact on their own finances was sure to return. Should she, despite the previous detailed discussion of the subject, offer to cover the expenses entirely? Her grandmother's famed jewels would surely suffice – but it would set a bad precedent and perhaps even create fear that Sunspear was trying to grasp the control over the rivers from the lords and ladies whose lands they passed. She looked at Arthur who shook his head, having read the hesitation on her face.

A look at Lady Allyrion told her that right now, offering too many concessions would only bring suspicions. Mikkel reached over and placed a hand over his paramour's; the lady did not exactly release her hand but the stiffening of her back told Elia that she was not in the mood to have her ire soothed.

"Perhaps we should look at the plans of action provided by Master Sidor and plans of payment our Lord Treasurer has prepared for us?" Arthur put in, suddenly realizing that the pause was their chance to go into details. And once details had been brought into discussion, it would be easier for the whole to take shape as something almost certain. Real. Details might persuade even those who were understandably reluctant to part with a bigger share of their revenue than expected, and under their Princess' control, at that.

Before anyone could say something, the maps and other parchments were spread over the table and everyone leaned over.

The attack, though, came from where both Elia and Arthur most feared.

"That's all very interesting and well supported," Lord Dayne finally said, being the first one to answer. "I have a question, though. How am I guaranteed that when I do my part in cleaning the bed of the Torentine, House Caron and House Mullendore will do the same thing? Let alone the Tarlys. I would really dislike it to go out of my way to keep up with the new demands only to have the Torentine flooding my lands because the Stormlands and the Reach do not care about doing  _their_  part."

"I share your concerns," Lady Blackmont said immediately.

Silence descended. Everyone knew that managing the rivers had been a source of great frictions between Houses Blackmont and Dayne, on one side, and the houses of the Reach and Stormlands, on the other. With the whims of weather, it happened all too often that neglect in the northern part of the region around the Torentine was felt more acutely in Dorne. It would not be the first time Larra and Arel found their shores flooded through no fault of their own. Complaints to the Iron Throne were usually only the first, generally inefficient step. Hostilities usually followed. Everyone could understand their caution at the prospect of paying more for something that they only had limited control over.

"You can rely on my full support," Elia said. "I'll plead to the lords and the Iron Throne itself if needed. I will not let anyone be disadvantaged."

Arel nodded. "Thank you, Princess," he said in a way showing that he would hold her up to that because… because he didn't trust her. At this moment, Elia and Arthur realized that keeping him in the dark until the last possible moment had been the wrong move on their part. They – well, Elia, mostly – had been afraid of his reaction, scared that he'd try to influence others beforehand because of the same concerns he now expressed. Instead, they now have his open distrust – in front of everyone. They should have expected that! And the fact that they got what they wanted was a bitter victory when, after the meeting reached its end, Arel and Larra left together without lingering while a few days ago, she might have stayed and he would have for sure. The situation with Lady Delonne was worse: since she was the very last one to leave, she felt no need to keep appearances: after saying her goodbyes to Elia, she determinedly shook Mikkel's hand off and strode to the door, her back erect. Small wonder here since Godsgrace was expected to meet demand higher than any other region, thanks to the two main rivers flowing through it. In the aftermath of the plague, although the consequences to her seat were nowhere close to those in other regions, that would prove a great strain indeed.

For a moment, Mikkel stared after her before whirling around to face Elia and Arthur. "Good job," he said. "What's that, a new way of bringing yourselves to ruin? By turning your allies against you?"

Elia lifted her chin, despite the fact that even that slight motion brought new strain to her breasts. "We had to do this," she said. "We must be ready to brave the weather…"

"I am not talking about this and you know it!" he snapped. "Are you mad? Why didn't you warn them in advance?"

With some relief, Elia noted that he hadn't said,  _Why didn't you warn_ me _?_  At least he wasn't offended. But he  _was_  enraged. "Do you realize that you just showed that you don't trust them? They have been with you from the start! And you let them know along with everyone else. Are you  _mad_?"

He looked at his brother. "Did you know about this folly?" he asked.

Alric shook his head, still too stunned by everything that had taken place.

"Good," Mikkel said. "Because that's true madness."

"I'm sorry," Elia said. "I should have known that she might try to take it out on you."

Her uncle laughed harshly. "I can deal with Delonne," he said. "It will be harder for you to do so. And I predict that it won't be much easier with your brother," he added, looking at Arthur before shaking his head. "And here I thought I had achieved something with you," he murmured. "Your father must be spinning in his grave knowing that he entrusted you to my care."

Disgusted with himself, Elia, Arthur, and the unexpected situation, he turned back and left the hall without even looking over his shoulder. Silently, Alric followed and the fact that he didn't even express his opinion spoke louder than any words. Elia and Arthur looked at each other, finally realizing what their circumspection had yielded.

"Come on," Arthur said at last. "Let's go to our chambers. You look terrible. Do your breasts hurt?"

She nodded, for she did not trust herself to speak.

In the nursery, the children met her with anguished cries. "Why haven't they been fed?" Elia snapped as she took both babes to her breasts. She rarely did it but she had to relieve the tension the flowing milk caused. She gasped with pain when the little mouths found the nipples. Now that she only nursed three times a day, the pain of the first weeks had returned. But the fact that the children were hungry was worse.

The nursemaid gave her a helpless look. "Princess, you ordered that we wait for you, We only…"

Elia waved her off. The meeting  _had_  taken longer than she had expected. It was not the first time it happened – but she had never been so late. "I'm sorry," she murmured to the babes as their whimper quieted. She was trying to keep nursing them as she had her first children – but at the time, she had had no other duties but take care of her babes and herself. Now, she was tormenting both the twins and herself by persisting in something that clearly wasn't going to work each time. And yet the prospect of entrusting them entirely to a wet nurse brought tears to her eyes. Arthur silently brushed them away.

"Is it really going to be this hard?" she asked fearfully as Myriah and Carral went to sleep. "Making amends for my distrust? Oh Arthur, I'm scared it was a huge mistake indeed!"

He smiled tightly. "Very hard, I expect," he said. "After all, I still haven't been able to make amends to you for aiding Rhaegar, have I?"

She closed her eyes. "Please, Arthur, not now. I am not ready to discuss it."

"When?" he asked. "When are you going to be? We've been wed for ten months, Elia, and you still refuse to discuss it. Oh you have accepted me, I know that," he added when she tried to say something. "I don't doubt your love for me. You trust me with more and more responsibilities. But in your heart of hearts, can you truly say that you trust me unconditionally?"

She opened her mouth… and closed it. Between them, there was only truth. And not saying anything meant not lying.

A new smile, just as bitter, crossed his features. "Do you not see?" he said. "Once trust has been lost, it might be very hard to rebuild it. That's just as true about them as it is about you."

Elia rose and threw herself into his arms, clinging to him, trying to close the distance of the past that she knew could not be erased. This day or any given day. Only time would help. But now she felt a small part of how he must have felt when he had disappointed her trust for what he had perceived as loftier reasons… The feeling was not a good one.

_The candlelight glinted off the tender petals of the rose, veiling its calyx in shadows. Tiny bits of darkness that weaved their way over Naeryn's heart. She pushed the flower away._

_Anders Yronwood's face changed with surprise. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded._

" _What kind of woman do you think I am? Do you think you can buy me with jewels?"_

_The shock and pain in his eyes told her that this had been the last thing he had intended._

_The silence dragged on._

" _I only gave it to you because I thought it'd become you," he finally said. "Women who are beautiful enough to overshadow the glitter of jewels are the ones who must absolutely wear them. That was all. I'm sorry you thought otherwise."_

_The ruby rose glinted between them like a drop of heartblood._

" _I'm sorry," Naeryn finally said. "I just thought…"_

_She reached for him but he drew back. "Leave me alone," he said. "I am not in the right mood."_

_And he wasn't in the right mood for many days after. Until, suddenly, he was._

Naeryn woke up, gasping, her heart rejoicing, her hand reaching for someone who was not lying next to her. At feeling the cold sheets, recognition came to her, slowly and reluctantly. She sighed and curled herself in a ball, pressing her hands between her thighs – it was really cold on this gloomy island. Now she wished she hadn't burned Anders' letters. Not that she did not remember them almost word by word. But in the cold, dark hours between night and dawn, she would have liked to have something of him. Her eyes went to the chest at her bedside. She couldn't see the rose but she knew it was there.

"Come on," she told Roderic when she realized that sleep wouldn't come back to her this night. "Let's go out for a walk."

"You're mad," he murmured, reaching for his cloak. "And soon, you'll be dead. Just a few more strolls at this early an hour, and we'll both catch our death of cold."

"Well, you can stay here if you'd like," she offered, knowing fully well that he wouldn't.

To her shock, Prince Viserys had had the same idea as her and was now having a stroll of his own, his Kingsguard a few steps behind. In the soft glow of dawn, he looked almost impossibly handsome, despite having that peculiar clumsiness of a boy who had yet to grow into palms and feet that had become too big all of a sudden.  _He's bored here_ , Naeryn thought.  _And restless. Why won't he leave?_

She tried to avoid the meeting but he spotted her. Now, she had no other choice but curtsey. "Why are you up so early, my lady?" Viserys asked, coming near.

"I couldn't sleep, Your Grace," she said honestly.

He nodded. "Neither could I," he said and paused. "I hoped you would come out," he said. "I know sometimes you do."

Naeryn tried to smile. Had he been someone else, she would have told him that she didn't know anything about  _his_  everyday doings.

"You should keep company with young people, Your Grace," she said instead. "You don't associate with people enough."

"If I could with you…"

There was both hope and challenge in his eyes.

"Yes but we cannot, either of us," Naeryn said, smiling, before she retired.

The moment she was safely back inside, her smile slid off and her breath caught. Here. He had made his first not so veiled attempt at showing her what he wanted. By the Seven, it wouldn't be the last one! And he'd grow bolder. What was she to do when he did?

She whirled about, almost knocking Roderic down. The trip to Melisandre's chamber seemed so much shorter this time, when fear and fury moved her. She swore by the Mother that she'd make things clear with the red priestess, make her see the extent of her delusions. That was the only way to get her out of Dragonstone – and get herself out of Dragonstone and bloody Viserys Targaryen who couldn't choose a girl his own age but had to go after an old crone.

She was trying to control her fury and think of what she would say to Melisandre when the first door opened. She went it without thinking twice. In the brightly lit antechamber, she stopped, giving her eyes time to adjust – and before they did, darkness obscured her view when someone stood in her way. She gasped with surprise and then utter shock when she recognized him. "What–?" she started.

The horror writ on his face infected her immediately. "Naeryn," he gasped. "Go away! Go away before I–"

"What?" she asked, uncomprehending. "Gillerd? Where have you been? What are you doing–"

That was the last thing she heard before voice was choked out of her. The last thing she saw were the tears running down her disgraced cousin's face as his hands squeezed her harder and harder by the throat, choking out her breath as well.

 

 


	7. Darkness Within

The day was a spectacularly bad one, following an equally bad night. As Elia held Carral and rocked him to sleep, she could feel that she was falling asleep herself after the many exhausting meetings she had had with the lords affected by her decision on the river beds. One by one, they had intruded in her private parlour trying to find excuses as to why they should be granted bigger financial subsidies. The need to be alert after the sleepless night had drained her entirely.

"Give him to me," Lanore said, reaching for the babe. "You'll go to sleep before he does."

 _And possibly drop him_ , Elia realized. Her son had only recently stopped crying and in Lanore's arms, he proceeded growing sleepy.

"His arm again?" Lanore asked as she placed him in the cradle.

Elia nodded. "He's trying to wave it and he can't."

"Poor child," Lanore sighed. "Come on."

They left the nursery and went to the solar. "Is Alynna joining us?" Lanore asked as tea was brought to them.

Elia shook her head.

"You mean the two of you still aren't on speaking terms?"

Elia huffed. "It's impossible to talk to her when she's in this mood. I'll have to wait for her to cool off."

Lanore stared at her, unable to believe how someone so smart could be so amazingly blind. "There isn't anything worse for your relations than letting her cool off. Elia, that was such a colossal blunder on your part that you'll have to wait for the next two months or so if you decide to wait! This was madness!"

"I know, I know!" Elia snapped. At this moment, Lanore terribly resembled her father who had even used those same words. "I'll find a way to compensate them. I'll apologize profusely. It was just a bad judgment on my part, not lack of trust or anything."

"It certainly looked like lack of trust to me," Lanore murmured. "And I'm afraid apologies won't suffice."

She would know, wouldn't she? She had been the one to patch up things between her husband and the major influences in Braavos who, without exception, had been greatly offended by him in his potion-induced rages.

Elia sighed, now fully awake as she sipped her tea. "What more can I offer?" she asked. "I need at least a year or two more to build my authority with lords and smallfolk alike. I cannot give them elevation without causing unrest."

"Elia, you must start with apologies, yes. But that's only the beginning. No matter how much you dislike it, it isn't about family and friends alone. It's about power, purse, and prestige." She paused. "If I were you, I would have discussed it with my husband. I did so with both of mine when they were still capable of being rational."

And when they had stopped being that, she had taken the burden on herself, until the very last moment her second husband had pulled the reins of power off her hands to force the wheelhouse into every pot-hole in the road, Elia supposed. Not that Lanore would ever admit to that.

She did discuss it with Arthur, indeed, as soon as they were alone for the night. He unlaced her gown and helped her put her nightgown on before removing his own clothing. As usual, he'd sleep in his smallclothes only.

"Have you talked to Arel?" Elia asked, brushing her hair out.

Arthur snorted. "When? He avoids me whenever he can. It isn't easy to enrage him but when you do, it's next to impossible to have him cool down. I was hoping you might have had some success with Alynna."

Elia shook her head. "Since our quarrel yesterday, she's giving me the cold shoulder. She's as furious and offended as he is. Maybe even more, because she's of my blood and feels personally insulted by me. She doesn't seem to hold you responsible."

"Well, that's a first," he murmured. "You do realize that we'll have to talk to them at some point, don't you?"

"And beg their forgiveness," Elia whispered. "Even if we do not use the words. The same with Larra and Lady Delonne. Lower ourselves before their eyes. Show our support over and over publicly, the way they always did for us."

Now she understood why her mother had kept bestowing honours and prizes over her supporters, chief among whom had been her uncle. Support was a road where the two sides had to meet in the middle. And Arianne had also been forced to support her favourites out of fear that without that, competing influences could do away with them.

"I hurt Alynna," she finally admitted. "I'm afraid I didn't think how she'd feel in all this. But it's so easy to hurt people by not thinking through, isn't it?"

"Probably." His voice sounded distant. "Elia…"

She looked at his reflection in the mirror. Something told her that she should rise and leave the conversation but his grip on her shoulders kept her where she was. Not that he kept her there by force. He didn't. But she couldn't rise, riveted by the intensity of his eyes into the mirrored image of hers.

"It _is_ easy," he said forcefully. "And that's what I did. I suppose I didn't see I'd hurt you because… well, I didn't want to think about it. I really couldn't see it. I tried to dissuade him but in my heart of hearts, I _wanted_ him to take the Stark girl. I thought… I thought that it might get you angry enough not to want anything to do with him anymore. That you'd return to the Dornish ways which acknowledge that a woman is just as entitled to desire as a man. I hoped that then, you'd look at _me_."

His meaning was perfectly clear. Elia stared in the mirror, stunned realization descending upon her features. "You thought that Rhaegar would tolerate such a thing?" she asked, utterly puzzled.

Arthur's breathing eased. At least she hadn't accused him in selfishness yet. "I know, I know it wasn't very likely," he admitted. "But at the time, I couldn't see why not. He didn't want you. And he would have dishonoured you in front of the entire realm. In his place, I would never…"

"Of course you would never," she sighed, things getting clearer now. "But you are a Dayne of Starfall, not a dragon prince. Rhaegar would have never let me have you, no matter that he didn't want me anymore."

"I know that now."

Elia waited for anger to appear, and yet it didn't. The old ache stirred within, along with morbid curiosity. "And you thought I'd just forgive your own part in this, despite not forgiving Rhaegar? Forgive you so absolutely that I'd take you to my bed? I thought you knew me better than that, Arthur!"

There was a brief flicker of insecurity in his mirrored eyes before he quickly cast them down. The hands on her shoulders started slumping down but Elia quickly reached up and held them in place.

"I didn't think about this at all," he admitted in a hollow voice. "I couldn't think past the point of the rift between you and Rhaegar. I was going mad, Elia. In the beginning, it wasn't so bad. But when I felt you were starting to get fond of him… That was sheer torture, I'm telling you. When he gave her that damned crown…" He felt her shoulders go rigid under his palms but plodded through. "When he gave her that damned crown, I wanted to kill him and yet inwardly, I cheered. I thought that you'd never take him back. That you'd have me instead. When I was told that I was to accompany them to that blasted tower, I tried to let him reconsider but I was hoping that he wouldn't. I… I think I convinced myself that you'd eventually forgive me because I wanted you to. And when we were there, I was told that he'd wed her and I realized just how badly I have miscalculated. With time, I regained your affection. Your love. But I lost the thing that I somehow never took into consideration. I lost your trust. And it doesn't seem as if I'm anywhere close to getting it back."

Of course, he hoped that she'd say it wasn't true. But she didn't. She was looking down, the tears she had contained for so many years out of bitterness, disappointment, and wounded trust slowly making their way into her lap. But her fingers kept pressing his hands against her shoulders and despite everything, hope rose anew.

" _Look at her! I told you she didn't have a hand!"_

" _I didn't know the Martells welcomed mooncalves at their table. Do you think she has a septa? I don't think she'll have use of one. She can't even sew, after all."_

" _Do you think she can cut her own meat?"_

" _Don't be ridiculous, Maira, do you really think she can? Look at her! I saw Oberyn Martell cutting her meat for her. I suppose he feeds her like a baby as well. Do you know what? They say she's Maelys the Monstrous' own get."_

_The other girl gasped. "No!" she exclaimed, her eyes widened in surprised delight._

_At ten years of age, Naeryn was accustomed to being stared at and whispered about behind her back. Speculations didn't bother her this much already. They just went past her. But being insulted to her face, being talked about as if she lacked brains as well as a hand was something new. She was so stunned that the thought of retaliating never came to her mind._ Leave me alone, why are you mocking me, _she thought as to her horror, tears sprang to her eyes. And to think how eagerly she had expected the court's arrival in Sunspear! She had not anticipated that it would bring people who need not bother hide their disgust as soon as they saw her without Elia or the others. Over her head, a seagull screeched, as if it, too, felt gleeful at seeing the girl who thought she could be as good as everyone else taught her place._

The shriek kept echoing in her head, breaking through the fog clogging her eyes, filling her ears without a hint of mercy, rising and ebbing but never quite going away, and Naeryn could hear the concerned voices around her, yet no one would chase the seagull away, even he who would not leave her side, although the bird must be tormenting him as acutely as it did her. Every muscle in her body hurt, the injuries that had healed so recently inflaming again, her head pounded, and her throat was pressed in a ring of fire that was tightening, tightening… A hand stroked his forehead but it wasn't a hand she knew. Still, it was soft and cool and it felt good, although she'd like it if she could ask about the person's name or at least look at their face but her eyelids were so, so heavy. When, from time to time, she managed to lift them from a moment, all she could see was black cloth above.

From time to time, they – whoever they were – tried to drip water in her mouth and she did her best to drink it but it looked like the drops evaporated as soon as they reached her burning throat. They brought only the tiniest bit of relief. But there was no relief from this shriek…

"Chase it away," she pleaded again and again but no one heard her. "Chase it away!" she insisted petulantly and at some point, someone reacted.

"What is it?" a voice asked, confused. "What should I chase away?"

"The seagull," Naeryn murmured through her ravaged throat and opened her eyes just in time to see a white bejeweled hand splitting the air. And then, blessed silence.

"Here," the woman said. "That's your seagull – just an insect. Is it better now?"

"Much better," Naeryn murmured, squinting at her in the semi-darkness. She recognized the silvery-white hair but it was not her mother. After a moment of intent staring, she recognized the Queen Mother.

"What happened?" she breathed. "Why are you here?"

"Do you want to have some water?" Rhaella asked.

"Yes," Naeryn whispered.

"There's no need to talk," Rhaella said. "I'll read your lips. Don't strain yourself."

The drops were wonderfully cooling and Naeryn tried to reach for the goblet herself but the Queen drew it back and anyway, it turned out that Naeryn couldn't lift her hands.

"No," Rhaella said. "The maester told me that you are not to drink too much. Only a few drops at a time. There…"

A memory emerged bright in the darkness enveloping Naeryn's mind. Maester after maester had taught her that very thing: only drops after… after… no, she lost it.

"Do you want something?" Rhaella asked, helping her lie down once again.

 _Yes!_ Anders appeared in front of her as clearly as if he were in this chamber, with her, fussing over her as he was wont to. If he fretted so much over a simple bruising she got on her face after falling down, she'd hate it to see what he would do if, by a miracle, he could see her tormented by this ring of fire after…. After what? She didn't know. But she wanted to see him. He had been with her through those long days and nights, like a piece of her heart, a fragment of her soul, as ridiculous and defying belief as it was. Never before Naeryn – the woman who had embraced so many men – had fallen in love. She had been accustomed to conquests and flatteries, walking down prostrated bodies, heads bowed in disgraceful humiliation, broken hearts and pleas to stay without ever caring. Perhaps she deserved this punishment, falling in love with someone who also loved her, yet could never be hers. If he were a minor lord, at least! Instead, he was who he was. As much as she wanted him, she could never have him when she was awake. He retired slowly, reluctantly into the recesses of her mind, to return when she had lowered her guard.

"No."

"Some food?"

Naeryn shook her head barely noticeably. The very thought of eating made her gag.

The Queen sat down. "I'm so happy you're better," she said.

"What happened?" Naeryn asked. "Why are you here?"

She was acutely aware that the Queen Mother had no liking of her.

Rhaella shifted uncomfortably, considering the question. "You were hurt," she said. "And you are Aelinor's daughter. I couldn't let you without care."

 _I don't need your care_ , Naeryn thought. In fact, she was furious with her servants for having informed the Queen. Her illnesses were her own business, except when she was really so sick that she wouldn't reject some coddling. But not from this woman. She had long ago accepted that women did not like her. She hated them feigning care. "Thank you," she said.

Rhaella hesitated. "What happened?" she asked. "Who did this to you?"

Naeryn blinked. "Did what?"

"Your throat," Rhaella said. "When this sullen guard of yours drove them away, you were already at the Stranger's door. Who were they?"

Her throat? Naeryn tried to remember and her effort led to nothing. Her still fogged mind could not remember how the ring of fire had come to be… and then, with a sharp snapping of her head against the pillow, she did.

"No one," she whispered. "I… I don't know."

Rhaella believed her. Why wouldn't she? To Naeryn's relief, that meant that her attacker had not been caught. Abject tears stung her eyes. Gillerd… Why had he done it? What had prompted him into trying to strangle her? And how on earth did she still live?

Rhaella sighed. "We'll find him," she promised, to Naeryn's dismay. "Do you want me to write to your mother?" she asked. "Since the maester assured me that you were going to live, I didn't want to worry her before you regained your consciousness. I suppose she's so happy that I didn't have the heart to spoil it."

With renewed interest, Naeryn turned her head back to the Queen who smiled. "There were news from Storm's End," she said. "Six days ago, your sister bore Lord Baratheon a strong boy."

Naeryn relaxed, her tears running down, the smile lit her face and for a moment, they were not women who disliked and distrusted each other but women united by the relief of the Stranger defeated once again, the joy of new arrival.

Perhaps Rhaella was not feigning care. Perhaps she did care. For Aelinor's sake, not Naeryn’s. But it was something.

As soon as the Queen left, Naeryn ordered Sareen to bring Roderic in. The relief on his face when he saw her smile made her weep – she really had to do something about those tears. She had been all weepy in her sleep, weepy over Alaenys' babe, and now weepy over Roderic's happiness for her recovery. Even a close meeting with the Stranger could only excuse so much.

"Come here," she said when he stopped near the door, unsure of how to proceed.

Usually, he'd object that he had no business being in her very private chambers but this time, he crossed the room in two strides, not even noticing the muddy trail following his boots. He dropped to his knees at her bedside, taking the stump and pressing it against his lips.

"You saved my life," Naeryn murmured. "Thank you."

He laughed shakily. "It was about time we were even!"

For a while, they were silent. She motioned at him to pull a chair near the bed.

"What happened?" Roderic finally demanded. "It's an outrage that this woman is still allowed to stride around the castle as if she were queen when she set her hound onto you. Did you tell the Queen?"

Naeryn shook her head. "Melisandre wasn't there," she whispered. "And he's no hound. What happened?"

"I saw her in the yard, that's what happened," he replied. She noticed just how gaunt and anxious he had become since her almost-death. "But you didn't come out, despite not having found her upstairs, so I came to check." He shuddered. "You were hanging limply in his arms, your eyes closed and your face blue. I thought you were dead for sure. As we fought, you didn't even stir."

"Where did he go?" Naeryn demanded. "Is he all right?"

He gaped at her, outrage and indignation fighting for dominance with his concern over her health. "Is he all right? _Is he all right?_ Why should I care? Or you? My lady, he tried to kill you!"

"I know," Naeryn breathed, the ring of fire tightening its grip over her throat. "He wasn't himself. That was my cousin, Roderic, and I need to talk to him."

"You need to…"

Roderic's indignation reached a level that rendered him speechless, so Naeryn was quick to take advantage of it. "Yes. Immediately. As soon as you can find him. You can also be present, just in case. But I need to know what's going on. And don't harm him unless strictly necessary," she added and thought that he'd be sick right on the fresh rushes on her floor.

"If he's indeed your cousin," the man from the North murmured, "then he's a fiend, that's what's going on. And you have gone mad. But fine, I will find him for you. And I will stay here."

Naeryn was surprised by his quick surrender. He even rose to start working on the task immediately. But since it would take time until he found Gillerd, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. She'd need every bit of strength she could muster.

It turned out that finding the fiend took no time at all, though. He found Roderic as soon as the older man set a foot out of the building.

"How is she?" Gillerd demanded, crossing Roderic's way.

The older man took his sword out. Gillerd didn't reach for his. "For the Mother's sake, man! Didn't you hear me? How is she?"

 _I will not harm him. She told me not to._ Roderic glared at the dark-haired man. From this close, he was unmistakably his lady's cousin. His resemblance to his cousins Prince Oberyn and Alor Gargalen was uncanny. He was staring at Alric Gargalen, the way Princess Elia’s father had been thirty years ago, and it was disconcerting to see the ruin the man had become this early on. If Alric’s own son was anything to go by, the ruinous ending that Alric’s ways would bring him to had been hidden deep within him, to only become visible in decades; with Gillerd, everyone could see it even now.

"Better, despite your efforts," Roderic growled. _Give me a reason, boy. Give me a reason to harm you. A strictly necessary one._

Gillerd almost slumped down in the mud, under the rain that had not stopped pouring down for two days straight. The relief written on his face was so blatant that Roderic could almost take it for real. His hands were shaking as he was trying to move them.

"She can talk? She doesn't have trouble breathing?"

"Yes and yes," Roderic snapped. "By the gods, why am I explaining this to her failed assassin! You tried to kill her and don't tell me that you didn't!"

"I won't," Gillerd said, very softly. "But I don't want her to die. I never wanted that. Thank you."

Roderic gave him a look of disbelief and disgust at such duplicity. "You can say it to _her_ ," he retorted. "I was there, remember? I saw what you did. No matter what you tell her, I know what happened. Come on, now. She wants to see you. And don't forget, I'll be there."

Gillerd shook his head. He was still terribly pale, his mouth white, his eyes burning with insomnia. "I am not going there," he said. "And tell her that she must avoid me at all costs. Next time, we might not be this lucky and you might not intervene in time."

 

 


	8. Gathering Clouds

The girl rushed in as sun was casting its last, slanted rays in the semi-dark room. Alric looked at her silently, sternly without bothering to rise from his chair. She opened her mouth to start apologizing for being late but an accidental look at the hourglass stopped her in her tracks. Alric smiled, content, and they both watched as the last grains fell in the lower bowl. There was still things to be desired of Tyene Sand – apologizing before knowing for sure that you had something to apologize for placed one in a weaker position from the start and her eyes had fallen on the hourglass by chance, entirely – but her reactions were getting quicker.

"Good," he said. "Now, we start."

For all her golden innocence, Tyene approached the table as eagerly as Oberyn had, all those years ago. Once again, Alric reminded himself that he should be stern if he wanted to teach her properly. The Seven knew that he had had no such problems with her father! Being a firm disciplinarian had been easier even with his own daughters, in comparison to his grandchildren.

The glass vials lay in the sandalwood box in front of him, small and opaque. Each morning, he checked if the corks were still intact and steadily plugged in, the small invisible signs he had left on them untouched. Later, he'd have Tyene smell more of them at the same time but for now, there was no use of stuffing up her nose. And it was important to know that no one else had gotten to them either. One could never be too cautious. In this not too large box, there were enough vile ingredients to kill everyone in the Old Palace – and a good deal from the people in the shadow city as well.

Oberyn had told him that in the beginning, Tyene had used to close her eyes, insisting that it helped her focus better, but she had never done it during her lessons with Alric. He took a vial, opened it, and brought it to her nose. She sniffed but without inhaling. That was an instinct that they still needed to work over. She had to learn to breathe the substances in but not deeply enough as to let them pass all the way to her lungs. Not everything had a strong enough smell to be differentiated with mere sniffing.

"Well?" he asked before she had the time to fully think, and in the brief moment he saw her face before she replied, he knew she'd be wrong.

"A perfume," she said.

Alric shook his head. "It isn't. You let the lavender lull you to false security because you love it."

"Ah." Her face fell. "Give me another try."

Alric's hand hovered over the box, uncertain of what to choose. Poison or perfume?

"I didn't have enough time," Tyene said softly, playing the game of innocence that had such a good effect on other people. Not on him, though, and she knew it. He just enjoyed it and he loved indulging her.

"You did," Alric retorted and her eyes widened. Couldn't she understand that this was no time to play on his soft strings? "I thought you wanted to learn to recognize all poisons, not only the ones you'd use one day. And in critical situations, you'll have less than a minute to recognize the poison and save the victim."

In the far end of the room, Mikkel stirred. Alric looked at him. For a split second, his brother held his eye before looking away. He wanted to tell Alric that he was going too far. Alric shook his head, realizing just how irritable he had become. Why wouldn't Oberyn come back and resume taking care of Tyene's lessons already anyway?

"There wasn't almond in there," Tyene realized and her grandfather smiled. She had recognized the other reason for her mistake. Most of the common poisons did smell faintly of almond – but not all.

"So," she insisted. "My other try?"

Alric realized that he hadn't chosen the vial yet. Instead, he plugged the cork of the poison back in and closed the box. "We're done for today," he said.

"Done?" Tyene asked, as if she had not heard right. "Is that because I got the vial wrong? I'll pay more attention, I promise…"

"No," Alric said. "It's me. I'm tired. I need rest."

"But it's barely morning!"

"Still." Alric couldn't bear the disappointment in her eyes. "I'll be waiting for you in the morning. Or perhaps the day after tomorrow. I'll let you know."

Soon, he was alone with Mikkel.

"Did you have to do it?" Mikkel asked.

Alric didn't look at him. "I'm going out," he said.

"You're making a mistake." Mikkel paused. "You'd better stop your lessons with her for a while until… until it's over."

"Until _what_ is over?"

"You know what."

"Indeed I do not!"

Mikkel shook his head. There was no point of arguing with Alric when he was like this. He'd never admit to what they both knew gnawed at him. "I think you should stay in the palace," he said. "You do need some rest. And a few meals as well!"

Tyene was now crossing the garden. Alric watched her from the window. Her hair gleamed like a golden waterfall about her, the sun turning droplets into sparkling flames. How often he had watched it do the same to Loreza's hair?

"What does her mother look like?" he heard Arianne's voice as he had so many years ago while they had watched the wet nurse walking around the garden, the golden-haired babe in her arms.

"Oh she's dark-haired and blue-eyed," he had replied nonchalantly. "Loreza takes after her grandmother."

It would be many years until he wondered why she had asked this. Usually, she had no interest in the women he took to his bed while they were apart.

 _I didn't know. I didn't realize._ Now, he did. Arianne had been alarmed by his bastard daughter's very looks. She knew that Alric was not attracted to fair hair and she must have thought that he had found something _else_ in the child's mother. That he had liked her for something that had made him forget about his usual preferences. Had Arianne always harboured such thoughts, the fear that he might become attracted to another woman on more than a physical level?

 _Well, it doesn't matter now, does it? She's dead. They both are._ The anniversary of the start of the worst nightmare in Alric's life was drawing near. Somehow, all the way through Arianne's illness, he had not quite believed that he'd lose her. He certainly hadn't imagined that Loreza would die only a few short months after. And that had been only the beginning! Even Aegon's birth, the only light between the deaths of the two women so dear to Alric had been followed by… well, everyone knew the story, didn't they?

"Leave me alone," he spat. "I am going out. And don't dare sending anyone to trail me, Mikkel! I give no guarantee as to the state they will return in."

Arel Dayne startled and woke up, his heart beating. Beside him, Alynna stirred and in the moonlight, he saw her eyes, wide but heavy with sleep. "Were you dreaming?" she asked drowsily. "Do you need something? Some water, perhaps?"

She was already on her way to rising when he stopped her. "No," he said. "Go back to sleep."

She snuggled close. "You're so cold," she whispered. "Are you sure you're fine?"

"Yes," he said truthfully – and not quite. He could not tell her what he had been dreaming about. She had barely started to recover from the shocking meeting with her first husband's ghost, or shadow, or something.

His heart started beating more slowly; reassured, Alynna went back to sleep. He kept holding her but his mind raced back to what he had heard in his dream. A voice full of worry, a voice he had recognized. "Arel," Errol had only said, but in this way of his that clearly stated an expectation that Arel would do something. What was it? Purple eyes had aimed at him a long, unswerving, piercing look. Fear, plea, reproach – and what else?

Arel tried to go back to sleep but his friend's look would not give him peace. What had Errol wanted to tell him? Arel had dreamed of him before but never like this. Perhaps it was because Prince Aegon's birthday was near – and with it, the beginning of the end of Errol's life. Experience had proved that Errol did not take being dead all that well!

Or was there something else?

With a silent curse, he disentangled from Alynna's arms. The fact that the careful maneuvering included brushing even closer against her which led to certain sensation in his lower parts just made him more miserable. As recovered as Alynna looked, there had been months since the last time they had made love and he definitely missed it. But for now, cold baths had to do the trick when situation got… particularly out of hand.

He had decided to have a walk down the corridors of the parts of the Old Palace that he could gain entrance into and then perhaps the courtyards. Maybe that would calm this anxiety that he couldn't chase off.

Elia was dreaming of a storm unleashing all over Sunspear, the sea roaring and flooding the seashore, and her mother trying not to cry as she stared in the direction of the seaside road her father had earlier disappeared down. "He won't come back," the servants murmured, "if he lives through the storm at all." She wanted to have them scolded, punished, but the thought that they might know more about the storm than she did paralyzed her, rendered her numb with horror. Never had she seen such a flood before. Perhaps they would all drown?

"But there will be more," a child's voice said though the falling rain. Aenar, her aunt’s youngest son. His hair shone silver and he was no older than her but his eyes had the gleam of knowledge. "Twenty years later, as I am being born, there would be such a storm once again…"

The heavy fall of the raindrops drowned his voice. Elia woke up, her heart racing. But even awake, she could still hear the raindrops. They were no raindrops at all. Swiftly, she rose and grabbed a shawl to wrap it around her shoulders, then headed for the door before the knocking could wake Arthur up. Since his admission from two days ago, there was still some awkwardness between them. The long conversations, the return to the past weren't doing their health a favour. Let him sleep.

"Yes, Saranda?" she asked.

Her maid looked down. "I am sorry for disturbing you, my Princess, but Lord Alric's servant is here and says it's urgent."

At this time of night? Dawn was nowhere near. The only light in the antechamber came from the candle Saranda was holding. Suddenly, Elia was all awake.

"Let him in."

The man entered immediately. Valdar, one of those who had been with Alric since Elia was a little girl. She opened her mouth and…

"Something has happened to my lord," he said without beating around the bush. The fear and concern in his voice were unmistakeable and immediately affected Elia as well.

"What do you mean?" she asked sharply, terror forming a lump in her throat.

"I cannot wake him up. Tonight, I brought him his supper because he had said he wouldn't go to the great hall and he was sleeping. I didn't wake him up. But a while ago, Lord Dayne insisted that he'd be allowed to enter and I let him in. We've been trying to wake my lord without success for a long time and we cannot. I think he's unconscious. And it isn't just sleeping a hangover off. I've seen him doing this. He's breathing but he looks…" His voice caught.

"By the gods," Elia whispered and whirled about. "Rouse my husband immediately," she told Saranda. "Send him to my father's chambers. Has Maester Caleotte been summoned?" The question was addressed at Valdar. He nodded. "Let's go."

Somehow, the halls of the palace now looked longer than when she had been trying not to faint on her way to her first meeting with her councilors after the twins' birth. And the first thing that she saw in the bedchamber – other than her father's white face – was the goblet that Arel was inspecting. As soon as she reached for it, he stopped her hand. "Viper wine," he said simply and then caught her as the floor shifted before her feet.

At night, even the walls of Dragonstone gave out dampness. Rhaella's attendants were not happy with it. However, she had no problems. To her great surprise, the place had turned out to be a place she actually felt comfortable living in. It gave her vigour and peace of mind that had come completely out of the blue. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that when she had visited the island as a child, she had always felt her parents' reluctance to be here – the dreary climate and constant mists could not be worse for her father's frail health. But she was robust and still not too old. A little dampness could not sink her spirits. Lately, she had taken to waking up at sunrise to make plans of renewals both here and in the village, of her day and little court… Really, life was better than she had expected.

She still had no idea what to do about Aelinor's girl and the red priestess, though. She was sure that Melisandre of Asshai had something to do with the assault on Naeryn but the girl staunchly denied it. Why she would do such a thing was beyond Rhaella's wildest fantasies. And even if she was telling the truth – which she wasn't – that left Rhaella with the certainty of having someone close who was dangerous. Daenerys and Aegon were well protected but still… And soon, the entire court would sweep in.

"Aren't you pleased, Aegon?" she asked when the children came to wake her up. She would not rise before they did so. It was their tradition. "The whole court will make its way here just to celebrate your nameday."

He nodded eagerly. "When are they coming?"

"In about a month," she said. "It'll be a grand occasion. A king hadn't set a foot at Dragonstone since my grandfather's times."

Aegon and Daenerys started giggling. It was impossible for them to imagine Rhaella like a little girl. A girl with a grandfather.

"And when is my mother arriving?" the boy asked.

Rhaella's smile died. "She… she cannot come, Aegon," she said carefully.

"But I want her to come," he insisted.

"I know. I also want her to come. But she truly cannot."

All of a sudden, a thought descended upon her. "Aegon, did you think your mother was coming to live here?"

"Yes," he whispered and nodded, trying not to cry. "She might not like it in Sunspear. It's nice there but she might not like it. She might like Dragonstone better."

All of them, from Elia to Rhaella, had done a great job explaining the situation to him, no doubt!

"I am sorry, Aegon, but your mother isn't coming to live here. You'll still see her. She might even visit here. You'll go to her in Sunspear," she added, hoping that she wasn't lying. "But you won't live with her. Never."

His scream pierced her in an almost physical way. At this moment, she hated her decision to come here, to try and be a mother to him. She might be doing her best but she was just his grandmother. He might need her but she'd always be a second best. It was Elia that he wanted and needed.

As he whirled about and fled from her bedchamber, Jaime Lannister hurrying after him as soon as he ran through the antechamber, Rhaella sighed, drew the stunned Daenerys near, and prepared for her first bad day at Dragonstone since their arrival.

 

 


	9. What Each of Them Wanted

In the beginning, Alric only heard the voices from far away, words whispering like a small trickle, a stream just over the edge of his vision. He was somehow removed from them, in a safe and nice place – the pools in the Water Gardens. The water was not warm, as it was during the day, but cool and refreshing, as it often was early in the morning and late at night. Arianne had a private pool, of course, and what a fascinating one it was! Unlike the rest of the waterworks, it could be reached only through the stone staircase descending from the ruler of Dorne's private chambers. The marble bowl opened into a small cove; this way, it was the only pool that was fed directly by the sea. The adjoining canal could be closed off, of course, and then the pool could be filled by the standard means that kept the rest of the waterworks working but Arianne and Alric usually preferred bathing after dark or before sunlight – that was just when they had the time and then, the pool was filled by the tide.

"I'm coming!" she called out. "Don't go away with the tide," she jested.

"And if I do?" he called back. "What are you going to do?"

"Drown myself, of course," she replied readily. "What am I without you?"

He laughed and swam across the pool, waiting to hear her descending the stone steps. But the song of the sea concealed her arrival and he only became aware of it as her arms twined about him from behind and she submerged, taking him down with her.

"He must wake up," someone said. Elia? Or was it Aelinor? He had no idea but he disliked the worry in her voice and he had the disturbing idea that he was the one to blame, having been the one to put it there. He had no idea how but he must have.

"You always do," Arianne confirmed. "You have no idea how many nights I've laid in bed unable to sleep because I didn't know whether you lived or not. Thankfully, there are enough good things about you to make up for it. Almost."

"You're so kind, my lady," he muttered, sinking back into the lovely blue water because he was too tired to open his eyes and check why Elia or Aelinor was so troubled.

"Probably kinder than you deserve," Doran's voice came and little Arianne gasped indignantly. In his grandchildren's eyes, Alric was absolutely perfect, he knew it.

"I'm going to sleep now," he announced but he wasn't sure anyone had heard him because he was too tired to actually voice it.

"No," Arianne said. "No, you have to wake up." To his stunned disbelief, she even tried to push him upward. He pushed her away and tried to close his eyes if he could close them without having opened them.

"Just two or three times a year?" Elia echoed, incredulous. " _Just_ two or three times? You're making it sound like it's just a bit of excessive drinking that could lead to nothing worse than a headache for a day or two… _what_ can it lead to?"

Oberyn shook his head and looked down, trying to stifle his desire to yell at her. What did she think, that he had enjoyed watching their father sink into oblivion because sometimes, that was the only way for Alric to bear the abyss of losses and heartache his life had become? That he had shrugged and said, "Yes, of course you should take the dangerous potion. Should I prepare it for you, or do you think you'll manage?"

"Never waking up," he said bluntly and with some delight noticed how she blanched a little more. Let her worry now! He had been worrying for five years and he still was – surely it was only just that she worried some now! "Inadequate control of his mind and body if he wakes up. The chance of…"

Ellaria caught his eye and shook her head firmly. Oberyn changed his mind mid-sentence. What was he doing? Did he really want to cause Elia the concern he lived with? Most likely, she was not even accusing him… and if she was, he could not honestly say that she had no right. Had Alric's desire for oblivion truly been linked to viper wine, or _could_ there have been another, less dangerous way for him to deal with the pain? Couldn't Oberyn have found it?

The light making its way between the curtains slanted a shining line across the bed, right on Alric's face, making its appalling gauntness more pronounced. He had emerged from this terrible unmoving state to one of alternating fevers and chills but he had yet to open his eyes or show any awareness. It was the sixth day of his ailment and he wouldn't last much longer. As strong as he was in body, he did not have the resilience of youth. As they watched, he tried to turn to his side and Lady Delonne rose and went to close the curtains more closely to remove the taunting light. He murmured something, his distress visible, but when she returned at his side, he calmed down again.

"Come on," she said softly. "You have to wake up."

But he didn't.

"Why does he react to Lady Delonne?" Elia asked. "Sometimes, he reacts to me and Grandmother as well. But he _always_ reacts to her. Why is that?"

Oberyn's answer was cut short by Alric stirring once again and saying something unintelligible. Everyone held their breath but his eyes remained adamantly closed. Without looking, Elia held out a hand and Arthur came near. She leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly said, looking at Lady Allyrion. "I didn't mean is as an insult. Or distrust. I just…" She hesitated. "I just didn't think. And then everything spun around in this terrible way. It wasn't what I wanted. Perhaps I don't know how to trust."

The old woman studied her with a long unblinking look, then nodded. "Fine."

Elia blinked. Her husband's hand squeezed her harder. "Fine? That's it?"

Delonne Allyrion smiled. "Well, what did you expect, my Princess? That I'd have you go to your knees to beg forgiveness? You're sorry and I accept your apology."

Elia rather felt than heard Arthur's laughter against her. All of a sudden, she felt so foolish. She had contemplated a hundred different possibilities, from bad to worse, and all it had taken were a few words out of her heart. Why hadn't she done that earlier? She'd do with with Arel and Alynna, and Larra as soon as she saw them.

If there was any bitter comfort in Alric's state, however tiny, it was that everyone's worry had taken the edge off their interactions. But it was a very tiny comfort indeed.

If there was one thing that could be said about Arianne Martell, it was that she was obstinate. And she had a way to make one feel as unwelcome as possible. Really, in this lovely pool Alric felt like he had spoiled everyone's evening by showing up at a dinner he hadn't been expected at. Once again, Arianne broke his peaceful sinking down by pushing him upward. Doran and the children, Loreza, Carral and the dead boys – no one looked sad to see him go. His brother even waved a cheerful goodbye. "Yes," Alric muttered. "It was nice to see you, too. Can you not be more gentle?" he turned to Arianne.

His lady wife could be gentler than any other when she wanted to. But when she didn't… His head cut the surface and he started spitting water and coughing.

"Easy," Oberyn said. "Deep breaths. I'll give you some water when the fit is over. Do you hear me? Not before."

A fit? _A fit?_ How _dared_ he? There could be no doubt as to his meaning. Alric didn't have fits, no more than he fell from his horse. But something _had_ happened. What was it? He made an effort to control his breathing and was surprised at how hard it was.

Finally, he looked around, having let them seat him comfortably and give him some water. It must be a day because the red curtains looked rosy. Oberyn, Elvar, and Arel had crowded around the bed, blatant relief written all over their faces, even the ruined part of Elvar's. Or perhaps it was just Alric's imagination. Elvar had no control over his eye or the damaged part of his mouth. Suddenly, Alric was overwhelmed by the memory of that terrible morning all those years ago when his son had encountered the looking glass for the first time after his brush with the Stranger.

Unfortunately, his silence and perhaps his expression were taken by the three to mean something very different. "What's wrong with him?" Elvar asked, looking appalled. "Oberyn, you said it could have damaged his mind..."

"Not again," Arel breathed, sweat beading his forehead. "Gods, please not again!"

Oberyn just made a step backwards. Reeled backwards, more precisely. "We should… ask him some questions, I guess. Something simple."

They had gone too far. Alric's arm shot forward and Elvar who had not expected the assault toppled on the bed. Without breaking the motion, Alric pulled his son close, grabbing his throat with one hand and his head under the other arm. A moment was all he needed to finish the twisting that would leave Elvar with a broken neck. Well, more like ten moments since his strength really wasn't what it was supposed to be. It might not even work at all…

"Were you three suffering the delusion that I _wouldn't_ hurt you?" Alric asked in a low voice – low because, despite the water, his own throat still hurt. He released Elvar and glared at everyone. "Or were you just feeling like courting the Stranger today?"

Right now, it was just a threat but it conveyed his meaning effectively enough. "I'm glad you seem to have suffered no ill effects, Father," Elvar said dryly. The relief filling the bedchamber was so palpable that Alric realized he really must have been at the Stranger's door.

Looking at Oberyn, he wasn't so sure he hadn't suffered such effects. But he really couldn't remember what they were. Ah well, he would ask when… when he woke up… He closed his eyes and went to sleep, still sitting in bed.

Time was stretching, prolonging, and then disappearing altogether before Alric could get the handle of it. He went to sleep, woke up and found out it was late at night. He fell asleep once again, woke up, and it was still night but the people in his chamber were different.

Finally, three days later, he woke up with a clear head and limbs trembling with exhaustion. Lanore rose from her seat at the foot of the bed. "Do you need something?" she asked and without waiting for his answer, brought him some water, then went to the door. Alric heard her order a small meal.

"I am not hungry," he said when she came back to him.

"You will eat," she only said. "Do you hurt somewhere? Do you feel weakness in the limbs? Move them, one toe after another. What the beating of your heart feels like?"

She had already peeked in his eyes as he drank the water but now she did it again, in a way only Maester Caleotte and Oberyn did. Then, she checked his fingers one by one. She had even brought a small stick for the purpose, to tap them with. She made him follow the movements of her hand with his eyes. He did whatever she wanted to, stricken by the realization of how expertly she was acting. This had been her life for how many years now?

"I'd say things are looking good," she said as he took a bite of the fruit and cheese he didn't want. But there was something in her eyes that made him do whatever she wanted to. Those were Isanne's bright blue eyes but they held the cold judgment that had used to infuriate him in Mikkel in their youth. In Lanore, it didn't. It was ridiculous to feel like a squire who'd be scolded in his niece's presence but it was a fact. He even felt uncomfortable because he was gradually remembering a part of what had happened… and the rest of it, he could imagine.

"Did I scare everyone?" he finally asked.

"Yes, you did," she said without trying to soften the blow. No explanations of how happy they all were that he had made it. Not from Lanore. He knew they were – and she knew that he was aware. She was never the one to talk about things that were obvious. She was happy – and angry. "You should never do such a thing again."

To his shame, Alric felt that he couldn't give such a promise. There was no way he'd go through the pain that pounced upon him like a greedy lion, tearing him apart without some sweet oblivion. Oh he knew he could die. It just didn't disturb him. He had lost the will to live long ago. Doran's death had been just the final blow.

Lanore felt his sentiments and her face became cold. "Well, since you don't care, I guess I can tell you what might happen any moment now."

"Please do," Alric said but she didn't believe this show of interest. With this fair skin and blue eyes of hers turned to ice, she looked every bit as Alric imagined the Others looked like.

"Keep eating," she said. "From time to time, everything around you will turn black. You'll feel impossibly weak, your head will become light and at the end, you'll fall down and your heart will stop beating for a few moments. It'll look like a sudden death. I am told it _feels_ like a sudden death. Only, you will recover. Or not. You can recover many times and truly die the next time. No one can say for sure what will happen. But that's the fate of everyone who survived the viper wine fury."

 _I shouldn't have survived it. I never asked any of you to help me._ But Alric knew better than say it. He wondered what day it was. Was the anniversary of Arianne's death over?

Lanore leaned close, floral scent wafting from her. Alric could not be mistaken: in those eyes the colour of summer sky, there was disappointment. "You really don't care, do you?" she asked.

"No," he said softly. He didn't want to upset her but he didn't want to lie to her as well.

She nodded curtly. "I guess we'll just have to wait for the poison to prove its merits once again," she said. "Since you won't have it any other way." She laughed bitterly. "I suggest that you don't say it to Arel Dayne, though. He was the one who found you… and unlike me, he doesn't really know what a wretched crowd you are. You and your painkillers!"

Alric frowned at her. Weak or not, he understood her implication perfectly. "Do not compare me to your damned husband!"

"Why?" she snapped. "How are you any different? You both love your sweet oblivion more than anything else. Meanwhile, that anything else can go crumbling down for all you care."

Where had _this_ come from? Alric had no desire to argue with her, so he only asked, "What do you want? Tell me what you want."

"I want you to think of the others, just for change. Can you imagine what Arel Dayne would have felt like if he had found you dead? What it would have meant for Elia and her brothers? Or the rest of us? Or perhaps you can but your pain is so much greater than ours? Who do you _think_ you are?"

There was a tense silence. They watched each other as wary enemies.

"It's the pitch of night," Alric finally said. "I would think you had more interesting things to do than watching over me. Any servant would do."

She smiled wryly. Her expression broke his heart. _What would those things be_ , she was asking. _With me being as broken as I am? As ugly as I am?_

Alric sighed and as horrifying the thought of giving the viper wine up was, he took to action. "Listen," he started. "I'll offer you a deal."

Place of sorrow, place of dread. That was what Dragonstone was. It always filled Rhaegar with a peculiar mixture of profound sadness and duty heavier than mountain. There were no dragon skulls here, yet he could feel the presence of those long gone beasts much more keenly than he did in the throne room or the Dragonpit. The island was a dragon in itself, and not only because of the style of the castle. It must have been formed by earth melted by a dragon's hot breath because Rhaegar could breathe the symbol of its house in the very air, glimpse it in every tendril of mist. Triumph and lament, glory and disgrace – Dragonstone had seen it all.

This time, for the first time since he could remember, the King couldn't wait to disembark. Those months that Aegon had spent here weighed heavily on his mind. Dragonstone was no place for so small a child to live here, especially without his parents. He had never intended to send Aegon here before he turned fifteen, at least. _Never?_ a small voice asked slyly in the back of his head. Rhaegar chased it way. He still wasn't sure what he had been planning to do. At his happiest moments in the Tower of Joy, he had intended to send Elia and the children live here; when the world righted itself again, he wasn't so sure, it looked like madness _. I wouldn't have_ , he told himself now. And it didn't matter, not really. The war had turned his plans head down.

But even at the height of that insane love of his, the thought that Aegon might end up here without his father _or_ mother had never crossed his mind. Looking at the black towers glinting in the sun and disappearing behind the shuddering mists, he felt the weight of dread crushing him once again. Not the dread the long dead dragons had generated. The dread of how Aegon might have become in those months. His mother wrote to him that the child was adapting very well but Rhaegar still worried. Guilt crept over him once again and next to him, Lyanna stirred. He didn't look at her because he was sure he would not be able to keep his face guarded. He would have been happy to leave her at King's Landing and she would have gladly stayed behind but the façade had to be maintained, so he offered her a hand. She accepted but he could say she was far away. Shortly before their leaving, a man from Winterfell had arrived with the taxes. Like always, there had been no letter for Lyanna. There never was but she still seemed to hope and each time it didn't come, she became more distant, sadder, and wilder, spending whole afternoons out of King's Landing and returning only when both she and the horse were worn out. There was nothing that they shared. Nothing but Jon. If not for the child, he would have let her go back to her North or wherever she wished to go instead of have them both suffer the hell of their life together.

Around them, the court murmured. Not everyone had seen the dragon castle and many were clearly impressed. Idly, Rhaegar wondered which ones of them would have to go to the fishing village. There was simply no way for the castle to contain all the newcomers. He had arranged it this way. His heir's nameday would be celebrated so lavishly that no one would be left with any false impression that Elia's leaving would have any effect on Aegon's standing.

Rhaella and the children came out to meet them before the gates. Rhaegar's heart leapt with joy at the sight of the silver-golden head. Aegon had gotten so big! Unbidden, the thought of how much Rhaenys would have changed came to his mind but he pushed it away from now. His daughter's letters were as regular as ever and he was happy that she was so accustomed to her new life. He was.

Aegon, though… While at the first moment he looked happy to see his father, his eyes swiftly widened, his face twisted and his voice became loud and irritated. "What are you doing here?" he asked. His eyes were fixed on the Queen and he was very pale. "This is _my_ nameday!"

Rhaella immediately took him by the hand and started murmuring something. Lyanna managed to smile. "I came to congratulate you," she said smoothly despite gripping her skirts so hard that her knuckles went white. "And offer my present in person."

Aegon didn't even consider this. "I don't want your present," he shouted. Rhaegar could practically hear the court holding their breath. "I don't want you. I want my mother."

 


	10. At the Isle of Dragons

The crimson sunset slowly gave way to something that, almost three months after she first saw it, still filled Naeryn with superstitious fear. At Dragonstone, dusk was misty. Breathing. A living thing. A shadow separated in thousands of tendrils reaching, reaching… Naeryn knew it was the pale breath of the Dragonmount, of course, but it still felt like a myriad grasping hands. Somewhat similar to what she had seen over the dead city of Valyria.

"Does something scare you, my lady?" someone asked from her left and with a small sigh, Naeryn turned and dropped a curtsy to the figure that appeared between the parting mists of night.

"No, Your Grace," she replied. _Does he follow me around? Aren't there enough entertainments for him, now that the court has arrived? The King to talk to? Friends to catch up with? Girls his own age to chase after?_ But no, Viserys Targaryen's attention was still focused on her as strongly as ever.

He stared at her inquisitively. The living dusk made his purple eyes shine even more brightly, added more lustre to his hair. Yes, looking at him amidst those pale shadows, she could feel that this was the Targaryens' place. Not King's Landing. Not even the sands of Dorne. But here, the island of dragons and dread. Here, they bloomed.

She shook her head. She was being stupid. And she knew the reason for these strange flight of thought. She wouldn't pay them any attention. "No," she said again, although she could feel his distrust. Behind him, Ser Barristan of the Kingsguard moved. She did not need to see _his_ eyes to feel his dislike. And then, another pair of eyes. As bright as the Prince's. As disapproving as Ser Barristan's. Had the entire world decided to visit the lonely rock she had come to because she had decided that here, she'd be alone with her thoughts?

She barely contained the laughter that demanded to be released. The King and his Kingsguard stared at her as if she was the one who chased after Viserys when they both knew better. What was she supposed to do, dress only in drabs? Would she then be considered innocent in encouraging and enjoying the boy's infatuation? She dropped a curtsey. "Your Grace," she said.

"My lady," Rhaegar said. "I'm glad to see you're well. I heard you've been… sick."

"A very unfortunate ailment, Your Grace," she confirmed. "May I leave now?"

"You may."

Although she did not run, she didn't waste any time in making her retreat. Where could she go without having this boy showing up accidentally each time she was alone? The Mother help her, if he decided to try something bolder – a prospect that she was becoming increasingly scared of – Ser Barristan and whoever of the Kingsguard happened to be near wouldn't even try to stop him. They might prevent her from defending herself, though.

Perhaps drabs weren't such a bad idea, after all. She thought about that as Roderic rose from the boulder he had been sitting on and followed a step behind her.

Staring after her, Rhaegar shook his head and turned to his brother. "You're being preposterous," he said. "Leave her alone."

Viserys blushed but didn't look down. "What's your problem?" he asked instead. "It isn't as if you're her husband or something. Why do you care if I'm making _myself_ preposterous?" He paused. "Has Mother talked to you?"

Rhaegar shook his head. His concern was visible in the light of the torches two servants trailing him held. "No. But I can feel she's worried."

"She needn't be," the boys said. "I _know_ what I'm doing. And Lady Naeryn isn't what Mother thinks she is."

"People are talking," Rhaegar insisted, his concern increasing. While he doubted that Naeryn was actively chasing after Viserys, she was someone who could benefit from his infatuation. She had no husband, no betrothed, no fear of an angry family. The realm could only lose. "You're betrothed, do not forget it! Lady Olenna has already made some not so veiled hints that she dislikes your infatuation with the woman. It would not do to antagonize the Tyrells before the wedding has even taken place."

 _Before the wedding has even taken place._ Was Rhaegar for real? The wedding would not take place in eight years, at least! Was Viserys supposed to hide in the shadows like a criminal? Eight years!

The concern over his brother's face suddenly enraged him. Rhaegar had never had much time for him and Viserys had come to like it this way, although it had not always been so. But now, there was suddenly all this time for him, to tell him – what? That he should pretend to be blind until the little Tyrell girl grew up?

Looking the King straight into the eye, Viserys asked, "Are you really going to reproach me? You, of all people? Are you impertinent, on top of everything else?"

Rhaegar just stared at him. Since those terrible first conversations with his mother and Elia all those years ago, no one had dared say such words to his face.

"As if what I'm doing can even hold a candle to your own actions," the boy went on. "Be it in terms of angering noble Houses _or_ making Mother cry! What, you want me to stop living until Margaery Tyrell comes of age? Because I'm telling you right now, it won't happen!"

Anger boiled in Rhaegar so fast that it took him aback. But he knew what it was. He was never this angry when people weren't in the right – he was focused on convincing them to see reason. He only got enraged when he knew he was in the wrong. How could Viserys be expected to see his meddling as anything short of hypocrisy? One did not learn from other people's mistakes. The boy would never believe that Rhaegar wastruly concerned about him, not the realm alone.

"We aren't talking about me and my mistakes," he said, fighting for composure. "Do you think my actions brought me all the joy in the world? I only want what's best for you, Viserys, and Naeryn Sand isn't it."

"How do you know?" Viserys challenged.

All the arguments Rhaegar had evaporated. He had thought them self-evident but in his brother's eyes, they would be mere nuisances. So what if Naeryn was a Sand? What if she was Maelys the Monstrous' own daughter? The man had been dead those thirty years. What if she had been cursed by the gods, as ignorant people believed? What if she was known as Naeryn the Coveted and Naeryn the Whore? What if she was twice Viserys' age? He would not think at all about the many years from now when he'll be a young man and she'd be an old woman. All that mattered was that right now, Naeryn was beautiful, the charm of her presence enough to turn his head over and waken the young man that he was about to become.

"Leave her alone," Rhaegar said in a weary voice. "Please."

"I won't," Viserys declared. "And if you keep pushing, I might wed her. After all, this will be a much less troubling choice than the one you made, right? _Right?_ "

For a long, terrifying moment Rhaegar thought that he might just do it. As if his problems with Aegon and Lyanna weren't enough! He could hardly wait for the celebrations to start, so they could be over and he could send Viserys back to the Reach.

A slim scarlet figure passed right at the edge of the circle of torchlight and he had the fleeting thought that this red priestess was indeed choosing the oddest places for her walks. Perhaps he needed to talk to her. Find out why she was here, despite his mother's clear reluctance to have her.

This time, for the first time since Gillerd's attack on her and perhaps only for the third or fourth time since her arrival, Naeryn took the few steps leading to her chambers without pausing to take a breath. There was no pain in either her broken foot or thigh. She had truly recovered. Feeling elated, she even forgot for a time the fact that Melisandre had been lurking around the rock when she had left. In a day or two, she'd be well enough to confront her again… provided that Gillerd wasn't there. From what Roderic had told her, her cousin was trying to avoid being anywhere near her out of fear for her safety. Naeryn had some idea what enchantments must have been used to achieve such level of compulsion – and she knew that she didn't know enough to remove them. She just had to stay away from him or rely on Roderic to save her once again.

"Here we are, my lady," her guard said and checked the door they had come through to make sure that it was bolted. Then, he went ahead of her in her bedchamber and looked around.

"What?" Naeryn asked when he returned without having had the time to see anything.

He smiled at her. "I wish you a good night, my lady," he said and went to his own little room, just off the hallway.

Frowning, Naeryn entered and threw her cloak on the ornate chest. Then, she turned and her breath caught.

He was standing in the shadows of the alcove, following every movement of hers with eyes that were both hungry and so tender that she felt unable to move, unable to breathe. Then, she made an effort and came to her senses.

"Why are you still clothed?" she asked and went to him, grabbed his head with both hands, lowered his face for a kiss. There was nothing gentle about her lips and she tried to make her voice as lusty as possible as well.

For a moment, Anders Yronwood returned the kiss with the same hunger and despair that roared in her own blood. Then, he drew back and examined her with the same care and tenderness that she had imagined when she had been in the throes of her fever dreams, when she had been sick, alone, and desperate. That troubled her.

"What happened?" he asked and noticing something out of order, reaching to unclasp the sapphires on her throat. The two five-fingered traces had mostly faded. But not quite. "Who…"

"No one," Naeryn said quickly. "It's nothing. Really, I'm fine."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Someone tried to strangle you and you're saying it's nothing?"

"Are we going to talk now?" Naeryn asked rudely. "I didn't even know you were at Dragonstone but the fact I'm finding you here should mean you are impatient to fuck me? If not, tell me."

To her disappointment, his eyes didn't become angry and disillusioned. Just softer. "Make love to you," he corrected gently.

She shrugged. "Whatever."

He let his hands fall. "You didn't answer my letters after the river. I didn't appreciate it, Naeryn. I had no idea whether you would be healthy or not."

She lifted a shoulder. "Well, letters could not get in bed with me," she said, just as roughly as before. She would not let him invade her life once again. She would cast him out of her heart. Because she would not suffer love pangs when he left. Not she. Not again.

Instead, she smiled at him as she had seen the Essosi whores do, as seductively as possible – and in her case, that meant very carnally, although she had not painted her face and her lips were their own pale rose colour. "Enough talking," she said. "Aren't we going to do some action?"

Still, Anders didn't reach out to draw her close. Instead, he brought her into the light of the flames in the fireplace where he reached for the laces of her gown. It fell in a heap on the floor and Naeryn shivered, feeling suddenly self-conscious. While she was on her way to full recovery, there would be some months until her muscles pulled everything back and her bones resumed the exact shape they were supposed to have. There were faint ridges and small bumps in almost all places where she had broken or sprained something. For the first time in her life, her skin looked uneven. But she could not refuse him. With her voice, yes. But he only listened to her arms which reached out for him. He smiled and she returned it. He leaned over and placed a hand on her cheek. She started trembling. Some power that she did not know the origin of and that scared her with its very intensity descended over her, leaving her with no will of her own. She clung to him as if he was the only mainstay in a world that was falling apart. Then, she looked up, straight into his eyes. She would rather have him look into her eyes than her new skin.

He drew back and kissed the small disproportion still visible right under her left shoulder. "Now, you have battle scars," he murmured. "And I'll memorize all of that, to keep them in mind when they go away."

"Come on," Naeryn heard herself say. "Draw a map…"

And with this, all intentions of keeping it strictly physical burned down with the fire. She would do it… tomorrow.

Lyanna had never seen a colder place than Dragonstone – and that meant a lot coming from someone who had grown up in the North! But at Winterfell, there was winter snow and there was summer snow, and the sky was different shade in the morning and afternoon, and the horizon was clear. Here, it was all grey. Grey and smoky. Smoke, as in mists. Smoke, as that blasted volcano that could erupt and destroy the very island on a whim, just like it had created it on a whim.

Perhaps her unhappiness made her perceive the place as even darker than it was. She had not believed that she could be more miserable than she was at King's Landing but here she was. Since that first outburst, Aegon had never been disrespectful to her in public – she didn't know how Rhaella and Rhaegar had achieved it – but it was clear that he wanted her gone. She wanted herself gone as well, but that was not an option. Sometimes, shamefully, she felt angry with the child when she knew she had no right. Rhaegar had become even colder than usual because Aegon had become estranged from him as well, avoiding him, and while Lyanna supposed she should feel some sympathy, she could find none. Rhaella was busy ruling the castle and overseeing the celebrations that would start in a week or so… Lyanna's ladies gossiped between themselves how they longed to return to King's Landing, when they were not watching her like hawks for a blunder, of course. Everyone knew that the Queen was prone to those. There was simply no way for her to not make one here as well.

Silent and proud, she roamed the courtyards, the gardens, the long hallways. She started counting the gargoyles and had reached three and eighty when she saw Jon and Robb going back inside from the inner yard. They were laughing and talking animatedly, and Jon looked so much like Ned that her heart ached.

"Mama!" he cried out and they both ran to her. "We fought," he explained happily. "We, and Aegon, and Derrik. It was a great battle and I was the Young Dragon, and…"

"And who won?" she asked, smiling, and then horrified realized that she fervently hoped that her son had defeated Aegon. Had things progressed so far?

He knitted his brows. Clearly, he was not sure. Once again, Ned came to her mind and she couldn't look either Ned's little copy or Ned's son. "Have a good time," she said, leaning down to kiss him.

"Mama!" he exclaimed, drawing back. "Don't make me ashamed!"

"That's right," Lyanna agreed. "I'm sorry."

Kissing him in the open, how could she! Jon walked away, shaking his head at his mother's slow wits and she felt her heart break a little more. Soon, he'd be too old to need her as he did now. Even now, he needed her less than he had a year ago. What purpose would there be to her life?

She knew the cure to that pain. It helped, if only a little. _The volcano_ , she thought. _I'll go to the volcano_.

They had arrived only two days ago and she still had no idea where their horses were housed. Rhaella's grooms, of course, would not refuse to saddle one of hers for the Queen but she would not accept any of the grooms to accompany her. She even ordered Ser Oswell of the Kingsguard to stay here. With some delight, she noticed that he didn't protest too much, only warned her to be careful because she didn't know the terraine.

On and on she went. The cold winter in her face was a blessing. It made her feel alive, it helped her forget, it forced her to focus all her thoughts on not slipping down the left or right flank of the horse – and the volcano was so near. It would be a shame to have been at Dragonstone and not have a look at what lay in its grey depths, although her featherheads of ladies would probably feign fainting to show how delicate they were. It felt better now, only she and the horse, and the wind…

And then, she felt the odd movement beneath her and realized what would happen almost before it did. Only her desperate grip of the bridle prevented her from being thrown over the stallion's head when he fell down, having made a wrong step. Instead, she managed to slide down his right flank and fall down with a thud but no speed and not from too big a height. She crawled a few steps away before the animal collapsed and curled on her side where she remained to lie for a while, very glad that she was still alive.

Then, when she gathered her wits about her, she turned to the horse. The way he held his left leg showed her that they were in trouble and her heart sank. Would they have to shoot the animal down? Guilt poured over her in a huge wave, she rose unsteadily and went to him. "Come on," she said. "Please, I'm sorry. Please rise. We'll go back to the castle where they can take care of you. Do you understand me?"

But he didn't. Of course he didn't. And while she was trying to coax him to rise, she realized that there was no way to make him put pressure on his bad leg. She would have to go all the way to the castle and call for help. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I didn't want to."

"I take it that you're well," someone said behind her.

Lyanna spun around, instinctively reaching for a blade that she, of course, did not carry.

"If you're concerned about the horse, that means that the fall had no effects on you," the man elaborated. He didn't look like one of the locals but who knew? He was most certainly not a courtier because he was afoot and the courtiers at King's Landing would rather die than being seen to move without a good horse. Something about rank. Lyanna thought of putting a safe distance between him and herself but of course, there was no safe distance. They were alone at the foot of the volcano and a few steps would really not make a difference. He looked fit enough to catch her anyway.

"I am," she confirmed. "But my horse…"

He leaned down to give the animal a close inspection, ever mindful of kicking hooves. "I don't think it's too bad. But we have to send people to collect them. Until you know a spell to make him move?"

"No," Lyanna said.

"Then come on. The sooner we get you to the castle, the sooner you get help for him."

She hesitated and he arched an eyebrow. "You're scared, eh? I thought there was nothing you were scared of. At least that's how the rumour has it."

The horse whinnied in pain and Lyanna looked away, feeling terribly guilty. He rose.

"You know who I am," she stated, feeling quite relieved. No one in their right mind would attack the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms with any intent. Not here, not like this anyway.

"You coming with me?" he asked and after a brief moment of insecurity, she nodded, turned around and headed back. He strode next to her.

"I saw you at your arrival," he said. "I didn't expect to see you here, though. Not many people come here. They're afraid of the mountain, you know, and with a good reason."

Lyanna glanced at him fleetingly. "And you aren't?"

"Oh I hope if it erupts one day to fry me first," he said casually. "It won't happen, though. My sins are too great to be granted easy death."

Casual he might be, but he sounded serious as well. For the first time, Lyanna gave him a proper look and something about his face, his eyes especially struck a chord with her. "You're a Martell," she said, with absolute certainty, feeling suddenly disappointed.

He laughed. "If I was, I wouldn't have been roaming the island hoping for death, Your Grace. A Martell, I am not."

She was not about to fall for such half-truths. She had seen Elia use those all too often. "A Gargalen, then. You resemble Elia's father and brother too much."

He gave her a look as if he marveled at her audacity to say Elia's name so casually. "I used to be. I am not more."

"How does one stop being who they are?" Lyanna wondered, still looking at him.

"By being proclaimed an outlaw," he said. "I used to be Gillerd Gargalen; now I keep the name but I'm only a mummer's puppet in my leashholder's hands."

She blinked and decided that her situation was getting indeed precarious if she was not scared at being alone in the waste behind Dragonstone with someone who had committed a most grievous crime. He did not look frightening – and what of it? Shouldn't she have learned from experience that appearances could be deceitful?

"What did you do to deserve such a punishment?" she asked with morbid curiosity. She didn't really want to know but he was her first outlaw. The Martells wouldn't have exiled him for a common crime. "Oberyn Martell's double," she added.

He glanced at her. "I cut the tongue out of the mouth of a stupid woman who called me Oberyn's double," he said, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

As they walked, Lyanna realized how removed from the castle the Dragonmont really was. It had looked just a step away but it wasn't. By now, they must have started worrying about her – Ser Oswell, at least. She didn't care whether Rhaegar worried. It would serve him right.

"Do you truly think the horse would recover?" she asked anxiously.

"I am not sure," he said without looking at her. "But that's my opinion. As long as you don't ride him like a madwoman in a terrain full of small traps…"

She looked down, ashamed, yet she felt strangely relieved. That was the first human voice she heard in years addressing her like a real being and not the Queen, Rhaegar's withstanding. The fact that the words were a reproach did not matter.

"I was just too upset," she said softly. "Everything is too overwhelming. Dragonstone is not the place for me."

Now, he looked at her and she caught the moment his face became stony. "Perhaps you shouldn't have come, then? It's _Elia's_ son's nameday."

"Perhaps," Lyanna agreed in the same low voice and despite himself, Gillerd felt some pity for the woman who, it seemed, had no one to tell her troubles to, so she was now admitting them to him. Elia's cousin.

They were now close to the gates when she asked, "Why did they exile you? For real."

"For the murder of a man unarmed who had already proclaimed that he wouldn't fight me."

"Did you do it?" Lyanna asked. He didn't look this vile to her.

"Yes," Gillerd said readily. "In front of five witnesses, no less."

She drew back, disgusted. She was not stupid. He wasn't even sorry for the murder. He was only sorry that he had been caught.

"Then you don't deserve to live."

He didn't look too wounded. Not even insulted. "Not everyone in the world gets their due."

She waited for him to hint that she had certainly not gotten her due but he didn't. He seemed to have forgotten about her presence. The fierce protectiveness of Elia that the rest of her menfolk showed seemed to be lacking in this one.

"And you're trying to change?" Lyanna asked after a while. "Start a new life?"

He didn't even bother to shake his head. "A new life? I'm dead already. The Stranger just hasn't bothered to collect me yet. And it would be pointless, trying to change. We remain who we are, no matter how our circumstances change, and yet there are those two or three actions that define us for life. Elia might lose everything, and she'll still be a great lady. And I might become High Septon, and I'll still be the murderer who ruined his own life and the lives of those he held dear. Ah here we are. I wish the Queen a good day," he finished and disappeared before Lyanna could blink, and in his voice there was such irony and pain that she wondered how she could have thought him indifferent.

It would not be a good day for her, though. Not this day, or the next one, or the one after that. Not while she still had her memory to remind her of the action that had defined her for life. Not while she still had to be the Queen when she had disliked a mere Lady Baratheon. But she held her head high and went through the gates, the black walls pressing against her once again.

 

 


	11. Foals and Spears

"When are the fire priests arriving?"

Alric's voice sounded so normal that Elia wondered whether the terrible waiting of the last week had really taken place. A little hoarser, perhaps, a little tired but that was something that only those who were close to him might notice. Not for the first time, she prayed that Carral had inherited his grandfather's ability to bounce from the brink of death straight to blooming health.

"In two months," she said and looked at Lanore. "The Sealord has gone entirely deranged, accusing you of all mortal vices. According to him, you've had a different lover every night, you have consorted with your dead husband's corpse and you are prone to your Targaryen moral corruption."

Lanore laughed which surprised everyone, herself included. She was always amused to see people talk of things as if they had nothing at all to do with their unfolding. Listening to Elia, she could have sworn that her cousin was shocked and disgusted when they had oh so carefully arranged most of those accusations in the first place.

Most of them. The ones that they had not worried her more. But there was no going back now. "What do the red priests say?"

Elia sighed and moved Myriah against her other shoulder. "They say that they'd heed him as soon as he shows them any proof that you're the degenerate he claims. I agreed to an additional red priest here in exchange of their taking stance for you, the wronged wife."

The irony of the situation did not escape them. No one had lifted a finger to aid Lanore in all her years as the powerless wife of an increasingly unstable and violent man, yet now the red priests proclaimed their support over charges that some probably suspected were instigated by Lanore herself. She _was_ a wronged wife. Just not the way everyone pretended to.

Myriah was stirring against her mother's shoulder. Then, she gasped and started turning her head around, looking for something she had just glimpsed.

"Give her to me," Alric said and without waiting for answer, took the babe without giving Elia the time to say the ten maternal anxieties she had on her tongue, all of them cover for her fear that he wasn't well enough and might drop Myriah. She had decided to pretend that his clash with death had not happened at all – and especially not for the reason it had.

For a while, all three of them were silent, basking in the sunlight and the delight of a babe who had discovered the joy of watching the sea. Carral was sound asleep in Lanore's arms, as exhausted as Elia after the sleepless night they have had.

Elia's arms hurt for carrying him around the bedchamber for this long. His anguished crying still echoed in her ears and she could not imagine that as he grew up, it would become worse. But right now, everything was fine… and warm… She shook off the drowsiness threatening to overcome her and smiled, for a brief moment just happy and content.

"I'll make it clear that the red priests obey all the laws of Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms," she said. "Orvald Blackmont suggested to appoint a man to each of them. To help them get used to our ways, laws included," she added, and her father laughed.

"No doubt that is what he had in mind! He has a good head on his shoulders, this one. Next time there's an open spot around here, offer it to him. It doesn't matter what the position is. He's good in everything. Except for accounts," he added. "I have yet to see someone to rival Lady Alyse."

 _In saying, "No, no, we cannot afford this" before she has even heard the end of your sentence?_ Elia wondered. She quite liked the idea of Larra's relative on her council. But the next open spot had to be for a Dalt or Jordayne. _It doesn't matter,_ she thought. _The one after this next one will be for Ser Orvald. And he knows it for sure, everyone knows it. Or do they?_

"Has Uncle made some plans for Lanore already?" she asked, and the two of them looked at her in confusion. "Alynna's Lanore," she elaborated. "I was thinking of Perros Blackmont."

Alric shrugged. "He hasn't mentioned anything. But why not?" He paused. "I heard that Allyria Dayne likes the boy," he said. "Used to. Before."

That hardly had something to do with the topic at hand and he wondered if his mind was truly as untouched as the maesters claimed. "How is she?" he asked.

Elia sighed. "Arthur and Arel summoned a new maester from the Citadel, specifically requesting someone who was well versed in women ailments. For now, there is no change. And of course, they would not force a husband on her."

"The crows take Gerold," Alric whispered. He had delighted in seeing the rubble of that damned tower and he had stood next to Arel as he had seized High Hermitage for Starfall once again. But those things could not help Allyria.

For a while, there was grim silence and Alric felt an urge he had never experienced before. His need of some viper wine was almost like his need of Arianne in those early days after her death – all-encompassing, leaving room to nothing else, blinding and deafening him to everything but the burning urge devastating him, the craving for something that he could not have. And they said one could not get addicted to viper wine!

"Are you well?"

Both women looked at him with concern on their faces. He tried to smile. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I am."

"As if someone believes you," Mikkel said coldly, appearing all of a sudden. "Perhaps you should still be resting?"

Astonishing but this iciness and judgment sobered Alric up, just like Lanore's had that first day. No dancing around the matter, not from Mikkel. No sympathy at all. Just the angry question, "What were you thinking, you selfish rotter?" Yes, Mikkel was far from likeable when he allowed his temper a free reign. But he sobered Alric all right.

"Perhaps not."

Mikkel nodded and turned to Elia. "The foal arrived. Would you like to see it?"

Elia's face lit up. As Aegon's birthday drew near, she had become increasingly desperate to find the perfect present. Alric was pleased with Ellaria who had come up with the suggestion. "Is Starlight fine?" he asked. The sand mare was the very best Sunspear had.

"Yes. She's being taken care of. There was somewhat of a fright, I am told, but she's fine now. And he's pale as snow. Truly fitting for royalty."

"I'm coming, Uncle," Elia said eagerly and rose.

"Stay here," Alric said. "I need to talk to you."

Lanore motioned at her to take Carral. "Well, I'll leave you, then," she said and as she walked away, Elia noticed a new spring in her step that she quite liked.

"I wish you a good day, Elia," Mikkel said, still ignoring Alric. Great!

Arthur appeared from a side door and drew a chair in the shadow as Mikkel left.

"You called for me, Alric," he said.

"I did." Alric sighed. "Is he gone? I don't want to discuss it where he can overhear."

Elia and Arthur looked at each other, alarmed. "Yes," Arthur said.

Alric took a roll of parchment and handed it to Elia. "Aemon had it sent to me," he said. "Looks like this Northerner, Naeryn's shadow, is worried. He wrote to him without her knowledge. I didn't know he _could_ write … let alone allow himself to dispatch one of her couriers without her consent. The man probably thought he was doing her own bidding… Read on."

They put their heads together so they could read it simultaneously, and then Arthur whistled. "Naeryn has troubles? Caused by… Gillerd who she claims is no Gillerd anymore? Here, it writes that…"

Elia looked up, her face white. "Gillerd trying to kill Naeryn?" she gasped. "Impossible!"

"Here, there's more," Arthur said.

The letter was brief and not particularly clear. It was evident that the man had little to no experience with letters. But the gist could not be mistaken: Naeryn was in trouble and the red lady was getting more powerful, her access to Prince Aegon sanctioned by the King himself.

"Damn you, Rhaegar!" Elia cried out.

Naeryn was basically unable to go anywhere near Melisandre of Asshai because Gillerd usually happened to be near. Recently, he had made another attempt to kill her and Aemon should really do something about it because Roderic would not tolerate it for much longer, Naeryn's orders be damned. He'd kill him and face her wroth.

"She must come back," Arthur concluded. "We must order her to come back before she comes to harm."

"But what about Aegon?" Elia cried. "We cannot leave him to the red priestess, especially now when Rhaella can't keep him away from her. Rhaegar himself has let her near!"

Carral woke up and she started rocking him. Alric looked at Myriah but she was still gurgling happily in his arms. He stroked her head, with its fine silvery fluff. "Well, I think it befits me to hand Aegon's present in person," he said.

This time, Lyanna knew her lesson: she left the horse well away from the mountain. She had realized what she had done wrong last time: in her fierce gallop, she had not taken the time to look what she was riding upon. Shortly before the volcano, the land turned dry and rocky. There were even some sharp forms that, after processing, would become glinting obsidian. A horse breaking a leg was indeed a certainty and she could not imagine by what incredible luck hers had been spared.

 _I must be mad_ , she thought wearily as she climbed the well-trodden path leading to the summit. _What am I doing here?_ _I should be in the castle, receiving the esteemed guests and pretending that this is absolutely the place I want to be in._ How she hated those functions! But this was Rhaella's home anyway, so it was only normal that the Queen Mother played hostess. Lyanna didn't need to be around and watch her being efficient. She couldn't learn a thing from her. And no one liked having their deficiencies rubbed in their faces.

It wasn't as if she'd be missed. Rhaella was charming enough, Rhaegar was also busy with the celebrations and Aegon – when was the last time he had paid Jon this much attention? And the child didn't even reciprocate! – and her ladies would be only delighted with this chance to whisper about their wilding of queen. Her absence would only be noticed at supper if her seat remained unoccupied.

She kept climbing the steepening path. All around her, the mountain rose dark, ugly. Lyanna supposed she should be used to the lack of colour, being born into it. But it was very different. Under the snow, there was always breathing, life; here, she felt nothing. Beneath the darkness, there was simply nothing. No animals, no trees even. No growth at all. _Is the mountain bald_ , she thought and laughed to herself, her head hazy but her will determined. She would go to the top and see what was inside. She was on the volcanic island and she would see the volcano.

"I suppose you have never seen one?"

The voice came from her left. Her heart leapt and then calmed down. Hadn't she, in fact, expected to find him here? _Hoped_ to find him here?

The not-Gillerd Gargalen came out from behind the line of rocks and bowed.

"No," Lyanna said. "I haven't."

"And do you really need to go all the way up? It'll take you till dusk, in the best case scenario."

Lyanna shook her head. The peak was so close! He had to be mistaken.

"It is," he said. "I suppose you don't know that there are other mouths, in the side of the mountain? They are smaller but they'll give you an idea what the inside of a volcano is like."

She blushed, feeling like an ignorant little girl.

He stepped closer and she noticed just how terrible he looked. As if he had been battling a deadly sickness. His lips were colourless, on his cheeks small blood vessels were evident. Skin was hanging off his face, as if it had become too big for him. His eyes were dim. _Dragonstone suits him no better than it does me,_ Lyanna thought. _Why is he staying? Unlike me, he can leave._ She remembered something of a leash and a holder but it made no sense.

"Come on," he said. "I'll take you to one of those side craters, so you can see the fire without going all the way up."

She should say no. In fact, she had to start running and not stop until she was safely in the saddle. She was alone with a murderer who had no remorse!

But she nodded. "Let's go."

He led her through the grey and black and Lyanna could just imagine the dead earth swallowing them when her feet touched the path – narrow, invisible, but undoubtedly there.

"We're almost there," Gillerd said and a little later, he simply turned back and grabbed her arm to prevent her from clashing face first into the grey rock that was suddenly there. "This way."

A few sharp turns and short segments later, she gasped as she stared at the molten gold that bubbled and gleamed at her feet. The jagged black hole encased it like a precious dragonglass lining. A river of fire.

"Don't stay too long over it," Gillerd warned. "There are poisonous fumes coming upward. Men have been known to die after staring at the main opening for too long."

But the blazes in their black home were so lovely! Even after his warning – and she had no reason to doubt it. Indeed, it would explain her unusual weariness and the heaviness in her limbs, let alone the faint headache – it took her a tremendous effort to pull away. She sat on a nearby rock and watched him as he kept staring into the dark gold.

"Isn't it dangerous for you as well?" she asked and then remembered that he clearly had nothing to live for.

Finally, Gillerd turned around reluctantly. "Blaze," he said, very evenly and very softly. "My youngest brother is named Blaze."

"Does he do justice to his name?" Lyanna asked.

"Since the day he was born," Gillerd replied and paused. "Now, my son is almost the age Blaze was when I left," he added, more to himself than her. His eyes became even duller. Then, he pulled himself back together. "I am not spending the day here," he announced. "Are you coming?"

He must have spent more than one day here, though. He knew the mountain too well.

"I hoped I would meet you," Lyanna said as they climbed down. "The grooms told me that you've given them a recipe for poultice. Swift is on his way to recovery."

"Did they?" he asked and she hesitated. They hadn't mentioned a name but who else could it have been? The description fit him to the last detail.

The next turn brought the fisher village straight into their view and Lyanna felt the ridiculous relief that there were other human beings close, that there was something else besides this dead mountain.

"The desert is quite rocky," he finally said. "It isn't sand alone. We learn how to tend to our steed, for we do not always have grooms and maesters with us. And my father was of the mind that one cannot truly know their mount unless they care for him in his hour of need. Horses help us in our hour of need – a battle, a travel – and we help them in theirs."

That was a view that resonated with Lyanna. She smiled, deciding that she liked this father of his already.

"How do you preserve your horses in the North?" Gillerd asked. "We take care to keep them cool. What do you do to boost their ability to get warm? I can’t imagine you offer them feathery bedding in the stables and there's only so much hay that a stall can house – well, if it houses the horse as well."

The image of a stall so stuffed with hay that it could not contain the horse was hilarious. She burst out laughing. "They can look after themselves, mostly," she said. "Yes, we keep the stables warm. But mainly, it is the rubbing that does it. While your sand steed might be off colour for a day or two if not properly rubbed after a long ride, that could be the death of a horse in the North. And their summer hair is almost as thick as their winter one."

"It is?" He looked astounded. To him, horses running for a day and night and another day still were normal but a simple thing like horse-hair not changing significantly sounded astonishing, so Lyanna launched into a long description of the care horses needed in the North and questions about how one pulled a horse from the sand. Gillerd turned out to have more than his fair share of experience on this matter.

"We were often designated the care of the stables and training of foals when we were at Lord Qorgyle's household," he explained, smiling at the memory. "I still marvel at how he stood my cousins and me to the end. Our fathers warned him that he didn't really want the three of us at the same time but he didn't believe them. Finally, my uncle said, "Well, digging unwilling people out of the holes they dig for themselves was never my specialty" and that was it."

Lyanna laughed. "He thought that if you were busy enough day and night, you'd have no energy for stirring mischief?" she guessed.

Now, he laughed as well, and his resemblance to Elia shone through. Elia in her rare moments of unguarded joy. "We adopted some very useful skills there! For one, we scoured the castle from cellars to roof so many times that Oberyn claimed we were in no danger of dying a hungry death should we lose everything. We could always offer cleaning services."

Lyanna's smile died. That sounded so much like the enthusiasm Brandon had talked of Barrowtown with. Not so much like Ned's quiet content with the Vale. Her heart ached with the loss of everything she had had prior to her elopement, everything that she had taken for granted.

"Do you have other brothers than Blaze?" she asked.

Laughter disappeared from his face. The eyes she had thought resembled Elia's leapt to her face with Alric Gargalen's disdain. "I used to," he replied evenly. "He was executed after Ashford for the grave offence of having dragon blood and looking like your royal husband. It took four swipes to separate the head from his body, I am told. His wife fainted at the sight. She was with child at the time. Careful there," he added, pointing at a jagged form of earth jumping before their eyes all of a sudden.

Hot shame splashed all over Lyanna's cheeks. She looked away. "I am sorry," she said.

"I am sure you are."

She had heard those words more than once, yet the way he said them was nothing like the way others had. She cast him a sideway glance and a cold hand touched her heart. There was no irony on his face, just anger and resignation that stroke a mournful accord within her entire being. _This man knows all too well that no matter how sincere, regrets aren't any good to anyone harmed. He lives with it!_

Silently, they made the rest of their way back. As she went to her horse, Lyanna turned back and sought in vain the open mouth of the fire she had stared at. She didn't see it anywhere.

How was it possible that something poisonous and deadly could be so achingly beautiful?

_Today, Rhaegel was happy._

There was nothing more on the piece of old parchment. Not even a blot of ink. Certainly no explanation of the reason of this happiness. It could have been anything. With madness, it was, as Rhaegar knew only too well.

The sentence was written by the hand of Daeron the Good himself. Rhaegar knew his handwriting. Daeron had been one of the kings who had preferred to write some of their documents in person and his letters and edicts had been one of those Rhaegar had studies most thoroughly as a youth, in his aspirations to be a good ruler, long before the realization that his father needed to be removed crossed his mind.

The simple, random sentence now ate at him, causing pain that surprised him with his intensity. The fact that Daeron, then still Prince of Dragonstone, had noticed his son's mood and it had mattered enough to write it down, probably as a part of an unfinished letter, made him realize again that his chances of ever writing such a thing down, ever making such an observation were getting thinner by the day. His Aegon would not even receive the blessing of having the constant presence of a father to whom his casual happiness _mattered_ because Rhaegar would go away soon, leaving Aegon here as a symbol, proclamation. _What have I done?_

The memory of Aerys flooded his mind. Not the long-nailed, bone-thin apparition of doom from the last years but a laughing young man asking, "What? You've had a good day, I see? I was in the training yard, you see. You're getting better by the day!"

 _Go away,_ Rhaegar thought. It was far easier when he remembered only his father's decay.

Shoving the parchment back into the old box he had taken it out of while looking for something entirely else altogether, he made his way to the armoury. The thought of Daeron's sons had given him an idea he thought might be useful.

The armoury was so well kept that he found what he was looking for after a very short search. The weapons were placed by kinds which were then organized by age. A smaller adjacent chamber held the swords and axes, maces and pikes the highborn boys in the castle learned with. The ones meant for the Targaryen children, of course, were stored separately.

Rhaegar left the armoury, filled with joyful anticipation. As he expected, he found Aegon still in the training yard. He stopped near the wall and watched the wooden sword cut through the air this way and that and tried to see if Aegon had noticed his arrival and trying to impress him without showing it. He couldn't see any signs of it but then, he didn't know his son this well. Not anymore. Again, that pain.

"One day, you'll be a great knight," he said when Aegon's lesson was over, a short time later.

The boy's eyes moved to Ser Jaime for confirmation. The Kingsguard nodded, smiling.

"I want to," Aegon said simply, not boastfully and not hopefully but with the certainty of a child that it would happen just this way.

"Then, I have something for you," Rhaegar said and brought out the present. Was it still a present when it had been lying forgotten in the library for so long?

Aegon's eyes lit up. "That's a spear!" he called out excitedly. The weapon was small, made for someone his size, but all the details were there. The working was an extremely fine one.

Rhaegar smiled. "It's an old one," he said. "More than a hundred years old."

Aegon looked awed.

"Here," Rhaegar said, turning the spear carefully in the small hand touching it. "Read the name of the owner."

"Bae-lor," Aegon read. "Baelor. Who was he?"

"Baelor Breakspear, he was called. Many believed that he would have been one of the greatest kings of Westeros," Rhaegar explained.

The master at-arms had come close to admire the workmanship. "Look at how well the wooden parts had been dried before use," he told Aegon. "And yet they have not warped at all. A work of a great craftsman," he added and Aegon beamed at him.

"Like you, Baelor was the son of a Dornish mother and a Targaryen father," Rhaegar told his son. "Spears are a weapon that Dornishmen preferred," he went on. "Your grandfather and your uncle Oberyn are great spearmen."

Aegon's hand grasped the shaft. "Can I keep it?" he asked, as if his father hadn't said exactly that.

"It's yours," Rhaegar said.

For a while, the boy admired his new acquisition before looking at his father. "I'll show it to Jon and Robb," he announced and Rhaegar smiled. It was good to see that the venom of his own past mistakes had not touched the children. Not yet.

"Do so," he urged.

Ser Jaime stirred uncomfortably and Rhaegar realized that the white knight knew something he himself was unaware of.

"Can't they stay here?" Aegon asked. "It's so much merrier with them."

Silently, Rhaegar shook his head, realizing that for all his might, he could give his son almost none of the things Aegon truly longed for.

"Without Lady Lyanna, though," Aegon added and frowned. "If my mother cannot come here, I don't want her to stay either. Why don't you send her back to King's Landing?" he asked. "You don't want her here either, I know."

Not for the first time, Rhaegar's children surprised him with the sharpness of their perception. Or perhaps it was the childish lack of restraint that urged them to voice their perceptions?

"I do want her here," he said. "She's my lady wife, as you know."

Now, Aegon watched him with his eyes narrowed, looking much older than the boy he was. "My mother was your wife as well. Why did she have to go and Lady Lyanna stayed? Couldn't you have sent _her_ away?"

The master-at-arms had suddenly found that his duties called him; Ser Jaime was looking away, pretended not to hear. Rhaegar wondered what answer he should give.

"I didn't send your mother away," he said. "I would have _never_ sent her away." He hadn't, no matter how cold and distant she had been all those years.

"You did," Aegon said. "When you took Lady Lyanna. They say you did. That you kept her only because you didn't dare re-pu-di-ate her," he pronounced carefully.

Rhaegar's anger burned hot and sudden. "Who?" he demanded. "Who says such things?"

But Aegon, of course, knew that should he give the loquacious wiseacres away, no one would tell him anything anymore, so he fell silent, tilting his chin with challenge in which Rhaegar recognized himself. Despite the rising rumours that the boy was not his son, that Arthur had consummated his relationship with Elia years before they could wed, Rhaegar knew the truth.

"Weren't you going to show your spear to Jon?" he finally asked but Aegon shook his head.

"Later," he said. "Lady Melisandre is awaiting me in my chambers. I beg your leave," he said and executed a perfect bow.

Looking at him, Rhaegar thought that the burden of a prophecy was inevitably a harsh one. He would rather not have his son listen of flaming swords, dead heroes, and blood sacrifices – but it was all part of Aegon's path.

 

 


	12. Fire in the Mountain

Rhaella stared at the newcomer and tried to imagine a worse possibility arising. The only thing that came to her mind was the idea of Elia coming in person. Without invitation, of course. Not that Alric had received one.

"What do you think you're doing?" she demanded. "Rhaegar has just started overcoming the events surrounding Elia's wedding… If you had waited a few more months, I would have…"

"Well, I'm sorry but I cannot wait for your son to overcome things right now," Alric replied sharply. By the Seven, all he wanted was some food in his belly and a bed to sleep it till next week. In fact, he could sacrifice the food if it would get him closer to the bed. "There are some things that are very alarming, Rhaella. What do you know about the attacks against Naeryn?"

She gasped and rose from her chair. "What do _you_ know about them? Last time, she insisted that she hadn't been attacked at all when people saw a man shaking her and pushing her downstairs. She ended up with an arm that was so swollen that I thought she had broken it for sure. People whisper that a jilted lover is obsessed with her and that's why she's hiding his name. And I cannot find any other reason for her to be doing it."

Since she had yet to offer them seats, Alric led the woman at his side to a cushioned chair. His goodsister Ranna nodded thanks. Her eyes were intent on Rhaella's face, as were Alric's own.

He didn't take a seat. With the exhaustion releasing its grip on him ever so slowly since waking up from his ordeal, he feared that should he sit down, he'd fall asleep right there.

"Aelinor and Stannis Baratheon are arriving tomorrow," Rhaella said. "Have you made some arrangements between the two of you?"

He shook his head. "But I knew she was coming. She'd travel home with me instead. I suppose we won't have the time to go to Storm's End and see Alaenys and her babe?"

He addressed his question at Ranna whose face betrayed anxiousness, albeit briefly. "No," she said. "I don't think that going there is a feasible plan."

Since when had she started issuing the orders in this family? Rhaella looked at her with new interest. She knew almost nothing about Carral Gargalen's widow bur from their short meetings, she remembered that the woman was as timid as a mouse, always depending on her husband for guidance. Rhaella didn't believe the rumours that he had brought her from an Essosi pillow-house, although Ranna was still beautiful enough to show that she would have been extremely sought out in such a profession in her youth! Her dark eyes were still deep, her brown hair – dyed, perhaps? – lush. But when had she started speaking with such authority?

"Aelinor still has no idea what happens to her daughter," Alric said. "I'll tell her in person."

Rhaella rubbed her aching head. It had been a long day of entertainments and domestic troubles that she had had to resolve swiftly, efficiently, and discreetly, and just when she had been looking forward to sitting down with some needlework before bed, those new uninvited guests had arrived.

For a brief, incredible moment Alric looked at her with sympathy. "It's very hard for you, isn't it?" he murmured.

"Very," she admitted. "So, what's going on with Naeryn?"

"The red priestess is behind the attempts on her life."

The Queen Dowager nodded, not surprised at all. "But why didn't she tell me? I would have had the perfect excuse to send her back to Braavos or wherever she wants to go. There are some things that Rhaegar would never tolerate!"

"Because she's protecting the perpetrator," Alric said bluntly. "Her cousin Gillerd, currently a tool in Melisandre's hands. He left Dorne many years ago and hasn't had any contact with the family. But there's no way that he'd hurt Naeryn on his own will."

He had barely spoken the words when he regretted his choice of them. Rhaella's wide eyes told him what she was fearing.

"No, no," he said quickly. "He isn't mad. But he's drained of his will and he's dangerous, especially because Naeryn won't turn him in."

Rhaella wanted to object, angrily, that the girl had not been sent here to protect murderers in waiting, kin or not – or make Viserys lose his head, come to think of it. Her mission was to keep the red woman away from Aegon and she had failed abysmally. But the reproach wouldn't come out of her parted lips. She knew better than anyone what it felt like to hate the corruption tightening its hold over one's mind and still love this someone. She had tried to protect Aerys from his own madness for years, long after she knew it was hopeless, because of those brief moments when sanity returned and he looked at her with horror and plea, and the memories of better times, the halcyon days of their childhood.

"This Gillerd," she said, "is about thirty five years of age, right?"

Alric gave her a long look. "Twenty nine," he said and wondered what had befallen his nephew to age him beyond his years.

She nodded. "He's dark-haired, tall? His nose had been broken."

"Yes."

"Black-eyed? Stands as unobtrusively as if he's part of the furniture?"

"Definitely not!"

"Well, he does now. He's always in Aegon's antechamber when Lady Melisandre is there. So Naeryn wouldn't go near, I guess?"

"Yes," Ranna said. "If he's been worked on in some of the Red Temples, if he'd been subjected to what I think he was, he'll be forced to attack his own blood the moment he feels them near. I assume Naeryn knows this. It's one of the first thing they teach you when they take you to the temple – the strength of each spell. Do you have any idea what Lady Melisandre is teaching the Prince?"

Rhaella shook her head. "I only know about Azor Ahai and Nyssa Nyssa. The usual things. And Aegon mentioned something about king's blood needed to wake the dragon."

"So, it's just like we thought," Alric concluded. "Very well, tomorrow we'll talk to Naeryn and get to know what in the seven hells is going on."

"Tonight," Ranna corrected. "I have to know what's going on as soon as possible. There is no moon tonight and that's when R'hllor's might can shine most brightly. The night is dark and full of terrors."

Both Alric and Rhaella jumped a foot in the air, although he had known in years what Ranna was. Rhaella, though, was stunned. She had supposed that the Essosi woman might have brought her own faith with her from home but she had never given it much thought. Now, she wondered whether Ranna and Carral had even wed before the eyes of the Seven.

"You are a red priestess," she whispered, shell-shocked.

"I used to be," Ranna corrected. "And I think I have a good idea what Lady Melisandre is after. She isn't wrong in her general directions but her vision… it has deceived her in some way and she might wreak a great havoc in the name of the Lord of Light. We made a mistake by sending Naeryn here. She might have dealt with the situation at hand but she cannot undo a spell like the one placed on Gillerd."

Rhaella, though, still needed to hear some explanations. "What happened? Why did you come to Westeros pretending to be… pretending to be what?" she asked, although she was already working it out. She almost laughed at the simplicity of their deception. While people speculated that Carral Gargalen had found his wife in a brothel, no one would think to look at the red temples.

"Carral happened," Ranna explained simply. "I could be a priestess or I could be a wife. Not the two things together."

"You must have loved him very much," Rhaella murmured.

"To make such a sacrifice, you mean?" Ranna asked, laughing a little.

"No," Rhaella sighed. "To make it and not care."

The older woman nodded and her face softened. "I did."

For a moment, there was silence. Alric stared at the wall, remembering as if it had been only yesterday the day his brother, ever daring, forever pushing any societal conditions, had brought Ranna to Sunspear. _Carral, who have you brought to our home? Who?_ he had asked, unable to believe that even Carral would go this far. Rhaella thought about her own life, the love that had visited her for so brief a moment. What a joy must it be to be loved by a servant of the Red God! To have someone throw away everything for you and thirty years later regret nothing!

Ranna rose. "Would you have someone show me to Naeryn's rooms?" she asked. Alric also rose. "There's no need," she said. "Go to bed and have some rest."

"I'm coming," he said.

"I'll show you myself," Rhaella said, reconciled with the idea that the needlework would remain only a distant possibility. She didn't want to summon servants and have the castle whisper about the newcomers before she had the chance to warn Rhaegar. And anyway, the men and women serving here were dead with fatigue.

In the antechamber, she saw the torchlight casting odd shadows over the face of Alric's disfigured son. One pale light looked as like a stream of tears falling from his damaged eye. For a moment, Rhaella felt sick and quickly looked away.

It was late after sunset and the castle looked almost abandoned, although it was packed with lords, knights, and ladies, without mentioning the servants. Their steps echoed on the stone floors or rustled against soft carpets. Albeit small. Dragonstone was fit for a royal residence.

In Naeryn's apartment, a handmaiden poked her head behind the curtain separating her part of the abode and dropped a quick curtsey before disappearing back. No one else appeared to try and prevent them from entering.

The bedchamber was silent. The candles at the bedside wrapped everything in their soft light. But the only one here was Anders Yronwood who stood near the bed which was made for two.

"Where is Naeryn?" Alric asked without wasting any time on formalities.

Yronwood looked at him, his eyes wide. "I had no idea you'd be coming. She didn't tell me."

"She doesn't know. Where is she?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps you'll tell me who the sick bastard attacking her is? She cocks her nose and won't tell me and meanwhile he's tossing her around all the ways he likes."

Alric's weariness disappeared all of a sudden. Had things gone this bad? "Have the two of you quarreled?"

"Two times a night," Yronwood replied. "I suppose that's why the damned woman won't come back right now. I am not tolerating this, I'm telling you. If she chooses to hide him, she cannot be with me and I told her this."

Ranna's gasp drew everyone's attention to her. She was staring intently through the window. The Dragonmont shone in pale reddish purple that became more saturated with each breath they took. "Is it this colour normally?"

"No." There was panic in Rhaella's voice. "It's erupting! We have to warn the people…"

"We have to find Melisandre, that's what we have to do! And Naeryn as well!"

Ranna spun around and glared at Lord Yronwood. "Summon her servants."

Without losing time with questions, he turned on his heel and went out.

"We have to act!" Rhaella cried out but when she tried to rush past Alric, he grabbed her in an iron grip. She was about to scream in mindless fear. Since Aerys' death, no one had raised a hand towards her. But Alric clamped his hand over her mouth before she could scream.

"It isn't an eruption," Ranna said, not bothering to hide her worry now. "It's something else."

Naeryn's servants – all two of them – arrived in the matter of moments. Behind them, Roderic of the North glared at Lord Yronwood as they continued the quarrel they had started outside.

"How do you not know where she is? You're her bloody shadow, aren't you?"

"I decided that since you sleep in this chamber with her, you'd be able to keep her safe at night and I can have some rest till dawn," Roderic retorted. "A grave mistake."

"So Naeryn isn't anywhere to be found?" Elvar asked.

"I'll have the castle searched through," Rhaella promised, gathering her wits about her.

"I can tell you where the search should start," Ranna said. "Take me to Melisandre's chambers."

Without protests, Rhaella did so. The mild-mannered woman's behavior betrayed sense of such acute fear that everyone around her was affected.

As they went out into the yard, the radiance on the mountain top intensified. The stone dragons looked alive, the flames coming out of their mouths vibrant, real. Shouts of alarm came out from behind some windows. _Soon, it'll be just panic all around_ , Rhaella realized just at the moment she heard Ranna's gasp.

"No," Alric spoke instantly. "It isn't Errol. It's the King."

Rhaella spun around and found herself face to face with her son. "Do you have any idea what's going on?" she cried out.

He shook his head. His eyes moved to Alric. "What are you doing…"

"Your Grace!" Ranna cut in and he turned to look at her. Her eyes were burning holes in his face. "Where is your son? Where is Aegon?"

He blinked. "He's in his bed, of course. What kind of…"

"Have someone check on him," Ranna ordered. "And then tell me. I'll be in Lady Melisandre's chambers."

All the blood disappeared from his face. Instead of summoning a servant, he turned back and crossed the yard hurriedly himself, two white shadows trailing him.

The castellan of Dragonstone scurried to Rhaella. "Your Grace!" he cried out. "What's going on?"

"Keep everyone inside," Rhaella commanded. "Tell them it's safe." She gave Ranna a questioning look.

"It is," Ranna confirmed. "For them."

They ran inside and to the topmost floor with Rhaella in the lead. A man stood on their way at the last step.

"My lady is not here."

"We'll wait for her inside, then," the Queen said.

"No one can enter when she's absent."

Rhaella gave him a look that froze him upon the spot. "I am the King's mother and you're in my castle. Step aside before I have you removed."

"You heard Her Grace," Alric growled. "Out of the way before we remove you!"

The man hesitated – and then Ranna pushed her way between Alric and Rhaella and extended her hand. A small flame jumped out of her palm, licking the man's orange robe. Rhaella gave a little shriek but immediately regained her control.

"The Fiery Hand cannot stand against my wishes," Ranna said icily, extinguishing the flame by returning her hair at her side. "Step aside, or we'll see who R'hllor favours more, you or me."

His jaw slack, the man drew himself left and they ran down the corridor.

An old woman gasped as they pushed her aside. Without hesitation, Ranna threw back the lid of the first chest she saw and started rummaging through it.

"Shut up," she snapped when the woman tried to voice her objections. "Tell your lady that Raniel of Volantis is just borrowing her things. Tell the Myrish man. Tell Benerro to come collect them if you want!"

Robes, combs, and vials flew out of the chest. Some other vials and pieces of fabric, Ranna placed carefully on the carpet next to her. "Enhancements," she explained briefly. "I'll put them to good use. Ah! What do we have here?"

She turned back, putting a red gold tiara in her hair, just when the door was thrown open. Rhaegar burst in, as pale as death. "He isn't there," he said immediately. "Aegon isn't in his bed, his Kingsguard is nowhere to be seen and his attendants swear he went to bed as usual. I don't know what's going on but…"

Ranna ground her teeth. "You could just have sold your heir to the Red Temple, like the beggars in Essos do, for all the difference it makes," she snapped. "You wanted to wake up dragons? Well, that's what Melisandre of Asshai is trying to do right now over there," she finished and pointed at the brightly lit mountain. "Waking dragons… sacrificing king's blood…"

" _Naeryn?_ " Alric shouted. "You didn't tell me…"

A chorus of startled cries arose. A moment later, everyone rushed to the door.

 


	13. No Path Ahead

The road to the stables had never been longer. It certainly gave Rhaegar enough time to go through all the curse words he knew addressed at his own stupidity in his head. When he had given the red woman authority to lecture his heir on certain matters, he had never imagined that it would go this far, so soon. He certainly hadn't meant for anyone to get sacrificed – like, killed – at the altar of Melisandre of Asshai's beliefs. It had been all in the distant future, a way to prepare Aegon for his destiny. What did the red priestess expect, that a seven-year-old could save the world at… seven? But he should have known that her conviction was strong enough to push her to such… madness. Someone dying as fate unfolded was one thing but this? There was no way he'd believe that killing someone with a blade, burning them, or whatever the priestess had in mind was needed or right.

Too late, he realized that the part about Nyssa Nyssa, the sacrifice made by the legendary hero, might be taken very seriously by the servants of the red god. A fool, a fool thrice over! How had it ever occurred to him that letting a priestess of a religion that burned people alive mess with his young son's head was a good thing? The image of Aegon standing still as the woman killed Naeryn Sand because she had convinced him that it was all for good flashed through his mind and almost made him stumble.

He had just started repeating himself, having exhausted all evil words he knew, when he saw the dark form of the stable. They had just started rushing in when someone tugged at his sleeve.

"What's going on?" Lyanna screamed. Her breathing was hard, her face flushed by running to catch up with them. By the gods, now he had to deal with her as well? Couldn't she have just stayed in her rooms in hysterics as most women would or tried to calm the others down as a queen should? Jon and Robb were following her, wide-eyed. "Is it erupting?"

"No," Rhaegar yelled back. "Take the children and go back inside. We have to go there."

She looked at him as if he had gone mad. "You're going up there?"

"Something very evil is going on," he shouted again, to drown the panicked cries all around. "Melisandre…"

But her eyes had gone to the man who had just dashed through the door, leading an angry looking sand steed. The grotesque of a face could not be easily forgotten and of course, Lyanna recognized him immediately. "Is this Elia's brother? Has he come to do something about Gillerd?"

Rhaegar shook his head in confusion. "Who is Gillerd? What are you talking about? I'm telling you that Naeryn Sand might be dying over there and you're asking me questions about Elia's brother…"

Shock played all over her face. Then, she turned to the children. "Go back to your rooms," she ordered. "You heard what your father said, Jon. It's safe. Don't be afraid."

They nodded obediently. They were still at the age where assurances by those they trusted were more powerful than the fear saturating the very air around them; with a sickening feeling, Rhaegar realized that this might be the reason Aegon had clearly heeded the red woman.  _He_  had told him to listen to her in everything, hadn't he?

"Can Robb stay in my room?" Jon asked and Lyanna smiled.

"He can," she allowed. "Now, off with you."

"Come with me," Rhaella said and looked at everyone. "Good luck," she said softly. Not a particularly good rider, she realized that she'd only impede on their progress.

The three of them headed back and Rhaegar looked at Lyanna, extremely displeasured. "You aren't going anywhere," he stated. "I don't know what awaits us on the top but it won't be anything good."

Unfortunately, that failed to impress her. Had he really expected that it would?

"Oh?" she only said. "And does any of you know how to reach the top? Because I know the way. Do you?"

Rhaegar glowered at her, although it was him that he was angry with. "A horse for the Queen!" he yelled out and saw how she tried to hide her smile.

Alric came running from the building just in time to swing in the saddle of the horse his son had just led out. Rhaegar looked at him. "It was about time!" he shouted. "Where have you been?"

His former goodfather did not reply. Instead, he stared at something in his left fist and Rhaegar looked away, feeling that he was imposing on something very private, so naked was the agony on Alric's face.

It suddenly dawned upon Rhaegar that the frantic stampede all around – running people, bleating and whinnying, howling and screeching, and human screams – had not let the grooms keep their wits about them just because. No one was about to saddle the horses and bring them out for his group’s pleasure. He darted into the stables and snatched the bridle of the stallion Ser Gerold was just leading out. When he emerged on the outside again, the light over the volcano had become more intense – or was it his fear speaking?

They had not yet left the looming shadow of the castle when a voice stopped them. "What's going on?" a man demanded and Rhaegar felt the instinctive feeling of relief spreading through his entire body even before Arthur came close enough for everyone to see his face.

"Where are you going?" Elia screamed. "Where is Aegon? Where is Naeryn? What's happening in this mountain?"

His was the first face her eyes found as she looked about for an answer and he looked away, unable to meet her eye. What could he tell her? How could he admit that he had left their son to the influence of a fanatic who was, right now, making him a part of murder? The murder of her own cherished cousin.

"Jump on," Alric cut in, looking at the reins of the horse Arthur was leading. Clearly, the animals of the whole party still had trouble adjusting to hard earth after the sea travel. "I'll explain it on the way."

Elia shook her head, looking alarmed. "But Sandbreath is not even here, I…"

"Come here," Arthur said as he followed Alric's instructions. "He won't mind, you aren't much heavier than my armour."

 _Perhaps she's even lighter than this_ , Rhaegar thought as he watched Arthur lean down and hoist her on his saddle. Under her gown, there were still the outlines of a belly that had yet to shrink entirely after the huge burden it had housed but her face was even gaunter, her arms so thin that he wouldn't be surprised to hear her bones rattling. She leaned against Arthur, making herself comfortable in a way that was so natural that Rhaegar felt a flash of anger but that lasted no more than a beat of heart. He had other cares to occupy him now. But the faint starlight was enough to follow the small stirrings of her dark silhouette as she reacted to her father's words. He looked away – and found another Elia listening just as intently at what the woman with Alric had to say. He shook his head to clear it but when he looked at her, she still looked like a sister of Elia's.

"What do you mean,  _No one is better than Gillerd_?" a gruff voice carried. "I am better! I taught him. I can still defeat him if I must."

"But are you ready to kill him if this is the only way to best him?" the woman snapped back. "Because he won' t suffer any inhibitions to do so. I'm telling you, our best chance is to throw as many men as possible at him because one at one, his rival is doomed."

 _Not if this rival is one of us_ , Rhaegar thought but he had the feeling that they wouldn't appreciate the sentiment, Elia included. Now he remembered who Gillerd was and it was very unlikely that any of the newcomers would do him harm even if he turned out to be an enemy which they certainly took him for.

"What are you all talking about?" Lyanna demanded. "He'd never hurt anyone of his family. He adores them, I know. When he was staring at the volcano…"

 _We'll have to have some words later, my lady,_  Rhaegar thought.  _I know you dislike it here and I know you need friends – but really, an outlawed murderer? And by the sound of it, he isn't just your friend._

The fury was as brief as his anger at seeing Elia with Arthur. The fear about Aegon didn't leave room for much else.

The glowing of the mountain top narrowed and became more focused and fierce, taking the shape of a torch or flame.

"Faster, go faster!" he heard the woman cry and they all heeded her, their horses kicking dust in the dark night and leaving the occasional villagers covering their heads and murmuring about creatures that had emerged from the very heart of the seventh hell.

The closer they got, the more they got swallowed by the curtain of mists flowing from the volcano. The poisonous vapours, perhaps?

At the foot of the mountain, they found Jaime Lannister. He was barely dragging himself. He looked like a blind man. In fact, he was so irresponsive that Gerold Hightower only managed to avoid trampling him over because the wind stirred the flame crowning the peak and threw a little light their way. Jaime Lannister just happened to be in the way.

"Ser Jaime!" Rhaegar shouted and everyone stopped. He kicked his horse to go near. "Where's Aegon? What happened?"

Dazed green eyes met his. The young man looked confused, as if he had no idea what had happened, as if he didn't even know who Aegon was.

"He was screaming," he finally said, and Rhaegar heard Elia's groan. "When the man carried her here, he tried to wake her up and told the red woman that he didn't like it anymore, that she should leave Lady Naeryn and go away. But she wouldn't listen. He turned to me and told me to take the lady and that we were going back. I tried…" He frowned, trying to summon a better memory. Shivering, Rhaegar thought that he looked like an old man trying to remember something from his childhood. "I heard him screaming," he finally said, rising a hand to his cheek and looking very surprised to see the blood that stained his fingers.

"It's still liquid," the woman spoke. "They didn't have as much of time ahead as I feared. Let's go!"

"Just a moment!" Jaime Lannister protested when his churning brain worked it out that he figured nowhere in their further plans. "I am coming as well."

Rhaegar sighed impatiently. "You're in no state to help," he snapped. "Go back and find help for yourself. Go to the maester. I…"

"I was the one who failed the Prince," the young man insisted. "Please."

"There's no spare horse," Oswell Whent said. "I…"

Someone's curse drowned his words. A few frantic moments later, they discovered that this fact did not matter since not a single one of the horses they rode would go a step nearer, no matter how they kicked, cajoled, or hit them.

"We'll have to go on foot." The woman sounded very worried. "Such a broad shield… I didn't expect…"

"Which way?" Elia asked immediately.

That proved another hurdle that they had to overcome. The tightly packed earth showed no traces besides their own. The mountain rose, dark and sinister, and completely apart from the torch burning on its very top. No flittering of birds moved the air. No snakes rustled the grass. _Dragonstone is no place for snakes_ , Rhaegar thought. Too cold. And then, the words he had heard whispered about Aegon echoed in his mind.  _Not a Targaryen at all. Just a Dornish snake._  But even this thought failed to rouse the anger towards Elia and Arthur that it always did.

The path leading up and around should not be hard to find. But tonight, it was. It simply wasn't there. A few times, they thought they had spotted a trek in the parting mists, only to find themselves at the very same spot they had started from in the first place.

"It won't work this way," the Dornish woman finally said. "This Melisandre is much more powerful than I thought if she can conceal the way from me. Or she's using Naeryn's power adding it to her own."

"Then Naeryn is still alive," the lady who looked so much like Elia said.

The older woman glared at her. "And what of it?" she snapped. "We cannot reach her; soon, she won't be. She'll die so close to us as we stand at the foot of this cursed mountain. Midnight is drawing near; that's when the might of R'Hllor will be at its strongest. That's when she's going to die."

The mists whispered, stirred, hid everything from view.

"There must be a way to reach them!" Elia insisted.

"Only if we find a path to the volcano. And I bet that since Lady Melisandre has been residing here, no one has been able to find the path to the very top."

"But I was there!" Lyanna exclaimed.

"Yes," the woman said. "With Gillerd of the fire."

"So I can go there again," Lyanna insisted.

 _With Gillerd?_  Rhaegar wondered but before he could feel even the brief anger he had experienced before, he felt chilled, drowned in such hatred that he wondered how he still lived. He slowly turned back. From her place at Arthur's side, Elia was staring at him. She uttered not a word but he felt what her shadowed eyes said.  _What happened_ , she was asking.  _What do this fire, this barred way, this wounded Kingsguard, this blood sacrifice mean? What have you done to our child? I loved and protected Rhaenys; if you happen to come to Dorne right now, you'll find her thriving and happy. What can you offer me in exchange? How could you let this come to pass?_

"She might be right," Alric suddenly said. "You told me to look for something he might have worn on his person. Well, this is something I cannot imagine he ever took down."

The woman gave him a startled look. "You mean you found it?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you  _say_  anything?"

He opened his palm. A heavy golden medallion caught the faint starlight; for a moment, Rhaegar glimpsed the face of a young woman, chiseled so artfully that each hair of her curls was visible.  _If we're late because of you,_  he thought fiercely,  _if Aegon gets hurt, you'll answer to me._ And then he realized just how unfair he was being. Even if those last few minutes would prove to be decisive, the bare truth of the matter was that Aegon had no business being at this top at all; he had trusted Rhaegar who had entrusted him to the red woman to tell him it was a good idea to head over there in the first place.

"This way," Lyanna said firmly, her hand closing around the medallion the way Alric's had done.

Rhaegar didn't see any path, any rising of the ground. It was just another dead end… but when he looked away, the lights in the village were lower beneath him than when they had started.

The more they advanced up the path that wasn't a path, the stronger the light became. Stronger and… burning. Licking their skin. Like fire.

 

 


	14. The Night of the Dark Moon

****  
  


The wind was harsh, soughing through the lonely brushes… but there were no brushes. Just the imposing dark mountain, the pale stars feebly fighting their way through the black dome that was the sky, the lights of the village that grew not only smaller but paler by the breath. Elia tried not to look at the sky because somehow, she could not as much as see but feel the exquisite crescent trying to escape from the captivity of that darkness above and yet it would not happen for another night yet, at least one. Had it always been like this and she had just never noticed? Or was it something else specific to this cursed night? It was more terrifying than it would have been, had there been no moon at all.

Arthur clasped her hand and squeezed it, lending her warmth and surge of confidence, as brittle as it was. Had she ever thought that he was as cold as his pale blade? At this moment, she felt that if he made a step away from her, she'd succumb to the cold that was trying to stiffen her limbs and wrap its deadly fingers around her heart. Aegon… Naeryn…

"We're almost there," Arthur said softly.

There? Where was  _there_? To Elia, it was all the dark realm of dread.

All of a sudden, the light became glaringly bright. Or perhaps it had been bright all along. Her aunt raised her hand to stop them from going over the next turn and cautiously peeked around it to see what was going on. Then, she turned around and gestured at Elia and Arthur to come near. Alric followed.

"She's no king's blood, I'm telling you," a voice echoed suddenly, a voice striving for calm. Had it not been for the very slight breaking in the last word, Elia would have thought that he had achieved it. "She isn't Maelys the Monstrous'. Aelinor Gargalen was Eltor Dayne's wife in deed, not name alone."

So high in the mountain, voices carried well, so they had no trouble following the reply, although neither the man nor the woman had raised their voices.

"It doesn't matter. You have no idea how deeply royal blood runs and what old, forgotten paths it has found since the beginning of time."

"You're making a mistake."

A moment of silence. And then, "Perhaps I did… about you. I have to admit that by now, I expected for your submission to have become voluntarily. Four months in the Red Temple… and they assured me they had worked on you very hard. But I should have expected it, perhaps. Your uncle made it to three months before they broke him, it is said. Like you, he proved remarkably resilient to a variety of methods. Perhaps it's something in your blood. I would need someone else to test this theory. Perhaps your father would do… or your son. They say he's one of the most promising boys in Dorne, spearwise."

"Damn you!" he shouted. "I'll kill you!"

 _Don't_ , Elia thought.  _Gillerd, don't!_   _She's using the words as weapons._   **Anger is the death of reason, the end of will** , her mother whispered in her ear.

Now, she was only a palm away from her aunt. Ranna stepped aside and Elia took her place. Arthur pressed her hand in warning and also looked on.

Her first look was for Aegon but he was nowhere to be seen. In the light of the huge torch erupting from the earth's womb, she saw a few big stones placed together to form an… Her gorge rose, she shook her head to side to side and forced herself to accept what she saw. In front of her, there was a makeshift altar with a body on it. Naeryn!

"There's no blood or burns," Arthur breathed in her ear and Elia felt a wave of relief washing through her. But the vapours? They were deadly by themselves.

 _No_ , she told herself.  _No._   _If they're to sacrifice her, they'll do so in the flames, not the air._  Her reasoning restored somewhat, she looked around and saw silent shades not far away from the fiery mouth. Servants of some kind. She kept looking around.

The first sight of the red woman made her hold her breath. The power radiating from the priestess was such that for a wild moment, Elia only wanted to submit.

Gillerd stood a few steps away, bathed in the light of the flames, and if she didn't know who he was, Elia wouldn't have recognized him. Haggard and careworn, crushed by whatever the red temples and his own deeds had done to him, he had little to do with the vibrant young man who had been one of the last few people to depart when she entered the Stormlands to continue her travel to King's Landing and her wedding.

"Let her go," a young voice cut the silence, a voice full of fear but also a touch of resolve. "I don't like it. I want to take her home."

Finally Aegon! Elia stared hard at the direction her son's voice had come from but he was standing somewhere in the huge black shadows of the fire, out of her reach.

Arthur tugged at her hand to tell her that she should move away, so the others could also see.

The fire crackled like thunder and the red woman started singing her prayers.

"Now," Ranna whispered. "While she's letting go of all of her power, placing it in the hands of R'hllor."

 _And before the exact moment of midnight came in._  Now, Elia remembered that her aunt could tell the exact moment of night, the precise position of the moon without ever looking up, had always been able to. Why hadn't she asked  _how_  Ranna knew?

"Go," Ranna whispered and led the way along the last dozen of steps separating them from the top of the Dragonmont.

Everything became a blur of movement and screams. Elia saw Lord Yronwood running forward and grabbing Naeryn from the makeshift altar as she dashed for the shadows she had heard Aegon's voice from – before a hand grabbed her and stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Not this way!" Rhaegar shouted in her ear. "The wind changed the direction of… This way!" he finished, dragging her left. "Go!" he screamed, leaving her alone, and she didn't even have the time to think of what uncaring father he was when she realized that he was running to cut the way of one of the men trying to stop her.

"Aegon!" she screamed and from far behind, she heard the sound of blades crossing. Her eyes were desperately searching through the shades that were dense and big, so big, with no light spots in.

And then, all of a sudden, he darted down the hard packed earth, a darker shadow in the dark shadows, and threw himself at her. "Mama!" he cried out. "I so hoped you'd come!"

She clasped him tight, relief claiming her so thoroughly that she could find no words.

"Come on!" Alynna screamed from somewhere very close. Elia still hadn't had the time to look around when her cousin started dragging her away… away from the path of flames flying so very close to them. Some distance away, the three of them turned and gasped at the sight: Rhaegar, the Kingsguard, her father, and Elvar fought the servants who were not so ordinary servants if their skills were something to go by. Only a few dozen steps away, another battle was taking place: whatever submission the red priestess had wrestled out of Gillerd was working because he was fighting three men at the same time: Arthur, Arel, and Lord Qorgyle were putting all their skills in, Dawn gleamed, white like hope, but Gillerd, face contorted, lips drawn back in the light of the huge torch of the volcano, was not giving up. Now Elia realized just how right her aunt had been: they had been put in the defense since the very first moment of the fight because they were trying to strike him unconscious, take him alive, anything but kill him. Their blows were weaker than they could have been and by the way their lips moved, the expressions on their faces, Elia could say that they were trying to reason with someone whose mind was not his own.

Further away yet, flames kept flying. Flames, and sometimes flashes of light. Elia held her breath. That was her aunt? Sweet, submissive Ranna? Ranna who never raised her voice to anyone, let alone her hand to her children or servants? She was facing the red priestess's fires with fires of her own, her feet flying in the dance of death as nimbly as they had in the dances of court, her wrists and fingers moving so swiftly that Elia could never see where the next bolt of flame would come from, but that Melisandre of Asshai was no weakling. The two women stooped and rose, and circled each other, and from time to time a groan from one of them showed that something, somewhere , inside, was burning. The choker on the red priestess' throat glowed brighter than fire and so did the tiara in Ranna's hair. Elia held Aegon tighter and with relief saw how Naeryn's shadow carried her away from the top as Anders Yronwood rushed back and stood undecided before almost immediately choosing the battle to join – the fight with those so dangerous servants.

Through the spitting and crackling of the flames, Elia started making out words. "Traitor". "Blind fool." "Offending." "Blood stones." "Reborn." Melisandre of Asshai and Ranna were trading shouts and insults like fisherwomen even as they fought their duel of death. Lyanna Stark stood nearby, so stunned that she didn't have the presence of mind to remove herself from the way of fire, just like Elia hadn't. Alynna was trying to get her attention and point at her to pull away but she didn't seem to notice.

"How is he?" Elia's father shouted in her ear and she tried to say that Aegon was fine but she wasn't sure Alric had heard her over the noise. She looked at the direction he had come from. Elvar was leaning down to tie a fallen enemy over. The red woman's men were overpowered, some of them dead, and she breathed a sigh of relief and then, next to her, saw her father's horror and shock.

"Gods," Alric mouthed as, for the first time, he had the time to look at Arthur's battle. Elia shared his primal terror. His nephew had grown up with his own children, Alric had known him since the boy was weeks old. Tonight, Gillerd had gone mad! Trying to kill his foster father, trying to kill Arthur, for the Seven’s' sake!

"Go!" Elia urged him but Alric shook his head.

"Only… the way…" he yelled.

Aegon was clinging to Elia and clung so even harder when he saw his father approaching. Rhaegar noticed and his head went back, as if he had been struck. If Elia had a hand free, she would have striken him, gladly!

" _This_  is your cousin?" he asked in disbelief, and Elia gave him an angry push with her elbow.

"Do something!" she screamed.

Alric caught him in the last moment as he was heading for the melee, sword in hand. "Stay here!" he roared.

"Not this!" Elia cried out, terrified that  _this_  was how he had taken her meaning.

Gerold Hightower was now approaching the four men. Arthur, Arel, and Lord Qorgyle were still circling around Gillerd, still trying to find a weak spot and disarm him without killing him. Even from where she was, Elia could see that not one of the four was unscathed. Blood trickled black on everyone.

At the last moment, Arthur jumped back and Dawn met the Lord Commander's sword. They were too far away for Elia to hear any words but she saw the shock on the old man's face. _That's because Arthur turned his blade against him_ , she thought, although it was clear that her husband had no intention of fighting Hightower – he was just warning him to stay away.

And then, the fire roared so furiously that for a moment, Elia went deaf and Aegon went stiff in her arms. She needed a few seconds to realize that the earth was not shaking underneath because of her dizziness. It was just… shaking. And cracking.

"You brought the Great Other's hand upon us, you little fool!" Ranna shrieked and then, the earth shook again and the fires leapt over the edge of their pit.

The impact threw Aegon out of his mother's arms. Elia instinctively grasped his hand but before she could draw him near, the world roared and trembled again, and she found herself tumbling over the edge of the precipice that had opened under her feet all of a sudden… Aegon screamed, she screamed… pressed him against the wall of this new pit, clung to the edge with the very tips of the fingers of her other hand and did not dare look down, for she had glimpsed a part of the depth beneath her. Another look, and her hand would lose its frail grip and both she and Aegon would fall to their deaths. She was trying to shout at him not to look down but the voice couldn't reach her lips. Desperately, she looked upwards and saw that the very sky was burning. She wasn't able to stand the pressure in her hand a moment longer… she was sliding down, slowly, ruthlessly.

"Mama!" Aegon screamed.

And then, just when she was about to succumb, the pressure disappeared. A shadow loomed over her and into the precipice. Someone grabbed Aegon, lifted both of them in the air at the same time and made a step backwards, as not to fall under the sudden impact of their weight against him. Elia thought she would faint and closed her eyes against it but behind her eyelids, the white light remained.

Rhaegar's face, when she did open her eyes, was equally white. "Are you fine?" he screamed. "Both of you?"

Elia tried to say yes but all the sand in the desert clogged her throat. Still holding Aegon, he dragged her a little further away from the edge.

"Was that it?" she finally managed to utter, when, after she had counted fifty beats of her heart, the earth was still silent.

"Probably," he answered, looking at Lyanna who was standing mute and as shocked as the rest of them, but seemingly unscathed. To Elia's immense relief, no one looked dead and no one was missing, swallowed by the earth.

Her father was busy tying Gillerd who seemed unconscious. The blood that had been trickling from his cheekbone was now pouring out in a huge gush. Arel had his arm around Alynna who was looking around with blank eyes. Near the very mouth of the volcano, Ranna and Melisandre were working… something, unfazed by the flames trying to leap out of their nest. At Ranna's side, Arthur had raised Dawn against the flying sparks.

Elia thought that it was very dark – darker than before. The shining dome against the volcano had been extinguished. The moment the dark had reached its peak had passed and with it, the moment when the Red God's power had been in its zenith. She felt soothed by this thought.

Aegon stirred in his father's arms, holding his own towards her. Reluctantly, Rhaegar gave him to her and went to Lyanna who shook her head and said something in reply of his question. Elia's eyes swung back to the two women standing so very near the flames.

Finally, the fire subsided. Elia guessed it had been contained at its initial place. Arthur returned Dawn in the scabbard and headed for her.

"I'll carry him," Rhaegar said from her left. She hadn't noticed his approach.

"No," she said sharply without looking at him. "My father will. My brother," she checked herself when she realized that Alric was unable to carry anyone. The events from this night had drained his last supply of energy and he might end up needing assistance himself.

Aegon's eyes widened and she smiled encouragingly. "I'll be walking right next to you," she promised. It felt so strange to suddenly be able to hear everything people said and be heard herself. "I'm coming right now."

Aegon went quiet and let Elvar take him. Suddenly realizing that it was over, Elia sat heavily on the ground and for a moment just stared down, grateful that, amazingly, no one had died.

"Elia! Elia, are you hurt?"

She looked up at Arthur and smiled a little, shaking her head. He held out a hand and she grabbed it but didn't rise. He was warm to the touch and Aegon was fine. Naeryn lived. Right now, everything was right.

"Elia, I'll take you."

She laughed shakily and rose on unsteady feet. "The day I'll let someone, even you, carry me around, have yet to come, Arthur. I can still stand."

She let him press her in a fierce hug and then hurried over to catch up with Elvar and Aegon.

 

 


	15. New Moon

The descend from the mountain top turned to be even harder than the climbing up. The torch rising from the mouth of the volcano had died, taking along every light but the flickering stars of the dark and definitely  _not_  clear night, so they stumbled and fell all the way down the path no one could see. The additional people they had to carry or, in Melisandre's case, drag by made it all harder. But even if Naeryn and Gillerd regained consciousness right now, they would hardly be able to walk on their own.

"Blood and bloody entrails," Arel murmured when he stumbled again and this time couldn't keep his hold of Gillerd, making Arthur drop his end of their burden as well.

"No problem," Alric said casually, coming to check over. "It's just his head that took the blow."

"Too thick to suffer harm," Lord Qorgyle finished for him. "Should I take this end?"

"No," Arthur said. "Not for now, at least."

By some miracle, Lord Yronwood managed not to drop Naeryn once, although he stumbled in the darkness just as much as the rest of them. She looked as peaceful as she never was otherwise, either asleep or awake. On her white lips, a radiant smile was frozen.

"It's the potion," Ranna explained curtly. "It makes one go to sleep thinking of the best things that ever happened to them."

"Sweet death," Arel murmured, looking disgusted.

"Do you walk around betraying our secrets to everyone and their mother?" Melisandre of Asshai demanded. She couldn't have missed the fact that she was now a prisoner to people who all disliked her, could she, Rhaegar wondered. If nothing else, the rope over her wrists should be a dead giveaway.

Ranna didn't bother answering. "Keep walking," she only said.

Save for those brief interactions, no one spoke to no one else.

Finally, somehow, they made it to the foot of the mountain. The horses that would not climb up the mountain now accepted them quite joyously which probably meant that whatever happened over the mountain stayed there. They had not carried the residue down with them.

Elvar Sand looked around and motioned at his father to come near. Sometime during the climbing down, Aegon had gone to sleep and didn't stir while he got transferred from Elvar's arms to Alric's and then Elvar's once again when the younger man swung in the saddle. Elia peeked anxiously from her place before Arthur and her brother murmured a reassurance.

"He'll be fine, Elia," the woman who was and wasn't her sister said. "The worst is behind us. He's young and strong. He'll be fine. They all will be."

She gave Elia a swift pat on the hand before turning over and heading for her own horse. Now, when the greatest of all fears was in the past, Rhaegar felt a rush of elation. He had found the face from the portrait!

Not that he had believed the girl in it was Elia. He had never doubted that it wasn't. And yet a little voice in his head had crooned "Are you sure?" from time to time. Despite their fondness, despite the children, he had always known that he hadn't managed to touch the depths of her heart. What if the man who wasn't present in the portrait had? What if it had been  _Arthur_  who had been standing in the shadows admiring her like he had done all those years in King's Landing? Now, relief made him realize just how much this possibility had been troubling him.

The ride back was silent, the echo of their passing the only sound stirring the stillness. Above them, a new moon took small shivering breaths, waiting to start waxing but now submerged by the might of night just like it had been submerged by the brilliance of the sun. Perhaps it was because of the fiery horror that had almost taken place but they could all feel her pull and yet it had lost the power that had added to their dread and feeling of being so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. It was just the moon waiting for its hour to be seen again.

It was a dark and silent castle that they returned to. It had long become clear that the Dragonmont was not erupting and the giant torch had died without anything untowardly happening, so under Rhaella's commands and their own fatigue everyone had gone to sleep. Those who were not sleeping were wise enough to take to their chambers and not set a toe outside. Elia drew the hood closer to her face and followed Elvar closely as he brought Aegon where Rhaegar showed him – in Rhaella's solar.

The boy and woman sitting with her gasped, staring at the King. Their faces blanched but they quickly got themselves under control as they, along with the Queen Dowager, were being made aware of what had transpired. Viserys shook his head slowly, as if he thought it was all just a big jest made in exceptionally poor taste. Rhaella sighed with the utmost relief.

"I'm taking Aegon to his bed," Elia said and then realized that she didn't even know where her son's chambers were. Viserys rose to show her.

A door or two opened as their procession of three advanced upstairs. Viserys and Elia carried the torches themselves. Aegon still slept deeply in his uncle's arms.

His two oldest attendants were peeking anxiously through the window when they heard the door opening. The body servant bowed deeply and the woman whispered, "Thank the Mother that you're here, my queen…"

"Not queen," Elia corrected. She wouldn't go back to being Rhaegar's queen for the world! Her eyes took in the thick carpets, the rich tapestries on the walls, the heavy tables and upholstered chairs, the gilding covering every possible surface. Everything spoke of the occupant's high rank – and in attempts to brighten the dreary air of the castle, it was something that looked meant to suffocate the spirit of a lively and energetic child who needed light and  _space_.

As they undressed him, Aegon opened his eyes and muttered something but immediately went back to sleep. Elia felt the smell of smoke wafting for him but it was clear that they could not bathe him in this state. All the weariness and shock of what had happened weighed upon him, so they only washed him with wet towels and then placed him in bed. Elia stared at his white face, at his hands and neck that had gone paler than it had been at their last meeting and wanted to weep.

"How is he?"

They all turned to the door. The current Queen of the Seven Kingdoms stood there in an informal dress, her hair falling down her back.

"He'll be fine," Elia said. "Thank you for finding the way for us."

Lyanna blushed. Now she realized how her finding the way must have sounded to everyone. And with her past… but that didn't seem to be Elia's problem. If Elia was thinking about her at all. The other woman's attention seemed to be focused on her son alone. Lyanna slowly stepped forward and frowned at the sight of the pale skin against the richly coloured sheets.

"He's so pallid," she said. "Last night must have been terrible for him."

Elia didn't look at her. "He wilts for the lack of sunlight," she said curtly, the apparent concern in Rhaegar's wife's voice getting on her nerves again. Since when had Lyanna started caring about Elia's children's wellbeing? "The mists of this island are no place for a child."

That was what he had told her when he had to leave Sunspear for Dragonstone those few months ago – that he missed sunlight.

Lyanna looked down. Elia wondered whether she, too, was thinking of Rhaegar's onetime promise – that he'd send Elia and their children away to Dragonstone so she would not need feel discomfited by their presence. From her friends at court, she knew that Lyanna had been relieved by Aegon's leaving. While she could imagine why that might be, it didn't make her feel more warmly towards the other woman.

The attendants had left already. Elvar stood at the window staring out into the night, out of the circle of light the few candles provided. Elia had left light only on a table out of the alcove with Aegon's bed, so the two women were wrapped in an atmosphere of odd intimacy.

"I hope he recovers soon," Lyanna finally said. "He's only a child. No one died or was gravely injured so…"

Elia smiled ruefully. "Until Gillerd wakes up and I see that his mind works properly, I wouldn't be so quick to rejoice."

She saw how Lyanna's face changed. "How so?"

Elia sighed. "We all saw that his mind was in a very peculiar state when we burst out into the clearing and interrupted the ritual. My aunt says that the effect of this shock could do some very serious harm to his mind."

Elia's aunt. Of course. Lyanna had recognized the woman instantly. Now, she had the chance to finally pin a name to the woman who had attacked her and then had saved her life, as well as her babe's. At the time, Lyanna had been certain that this was a new attempt  _against_  their lives.

But now she didn't give the aunt much thought, too shocked by the possibility of Gillerd Gargalen, with his honest and bitter tongue, being unable to form coherent sentences. Or…

"Is there a chance that he might find himself forever bound by this pressure that he so loathes?" she asked.

Elia looked down. "As far as I can say, there is. And if so, he might turn out to be dangerous."

"Not if he's allowed to leave before she is," Lyanna said reasonably. "There's all but a small chance that they run into each other again. He won't be a threat to anyone."

"And if he is?" Elia asked, her anxiety mingling with genuine curiosity. "Will you still want for him to be declared a threat to no one?"

To her surprise, Lyanna turned red and looked away. "Yes," she said.

Elia realized that she could not say a word. Surely it could not be?... Rhaegar and Gillerd were as different from each other as two men could ever be – and by the account of Naeryn's shadow, the years of exile had stripped her cousin of any vestiges of romantics and being charming. He wasn't much to look at either and as everyone knew, looks had figured hugely in Lyanna Stark's decision making. Elia really doubted that for all his charm and melancholic looks, Rhaegar could have appealed to the girl if he wasn't handsome. Handsomeness that had been ravaged by time and suffering could not compare to Rhaegar's silver perfection. What on earth could Gillerd have done to attract Lyanna's notice?

"Of course," Lyanna said defiantly, "he is a threat. He's a murderer. That's why even your family couldn't have him in Dorne, isn't it?"

Elia blinked. Things were getting more and more interesting. "Is that what he told you?" she asked.

Perhaps she had been underestimating the other woman. Perhaps she was more dangerous and mature than the starry-eyed girl running away naively and unwittingly cruelly with her perfect prince. Maybe she had learned to like people the way they were and not the way they wanted her to see them.

Of course, Gillerd had also wanted her to see him in a certain way. It brought sadness to Elia's heart, that he was still unable to find peace with what he had done.

"Isn't it true?" Lyanna asked.

"It is," Elia sighed because at the end of it, justifications didn't matter. Actions were what one left behind… and that was true about her as well. Aegon wouldn't have gone through this if she hadn't lunged for freedom so desperately. She could justify her decision all she wanted but at the end, it had been her decision. After all, Rhaegar hadn't sent her and the children here to rot, no matter the promises he had made Lyanna, had he? If she had stayed, Melisandre of Asshai would never have been allowed near her son. "I'd like to stay alone with Aegon now if you please," she said and Lyanna nodded. "I didn't mean you," she said quickly when her brother followed the Queen to the door.

Elvar turned back and smiled. "I wasn't going anywhere," he said. "I was just heading to find Arthur and tell him that I'd stay with you so he could leave."

Elia relaxed. "Of course," she said, leaning back in her chair and returning her eyes to her son's face.

It felt so good to have someone who didn't need explanations. Elvar's temper quite resembled Doran's and Elia's own, his train of thought was also very similar to theirs. He did not need to be told that what had happened this night had to be kept in secret. There were enough rumours about her son already. He didn't need the word that he was as mad as his grandfather being added to the cauldron. Except for their father's party who had arrived openly, their presence had to stay unknown to everyone. And to that purpose, it would be very imprudent to give Arthur and Rhaegar the chance to stay alone. Arthur shared Elia's dislike of the King's actions and Rhaegar… well, everything pointed out at Elia and Arthur sharing freely in  _his_  dislike, so it was a good thing for Elvar to send Arthur away and then accompany Elia to the inn they were staying in – the only one on the small island.

Of course, it was too late already.

* * *

 

Naeryn woke up with the greatest reluctance. The dream was such a lovely one that she wanted to stay in it as soon as the truth flashed in her dazed mind – that it was just a dream and not reality.

Blinking, she raised her hands before her eyes and stared at the straight gushes running on both sides of her forearms. She had been bled? How? Had she been ill again? Had Gillerd?

The candlelight was too hard on her eyes for some reason and she closed them, only to crack her eyelids half-open in a moment. It helped her focus, keeping her eyes open.

"How are you?"

Now, her eyes snapped open all the way up. Furious blush overcame her, she turned on her side and cursed when the movement reopened the wounds on her respective arm again. What was she, a stupid romantic girl? Had she really been dreaming of him, of a life together, of them being  _wed_  as if that could ever be true for a woman like her? There were even children in her dream, for the Mother's sake! Fortunately, she could not remember their faces or ages. Had she worked so hard on building a life outside the norms that would not accept her only to succumb to such weaknesses?

"I'm fine," she said, still without facing him. "What happened?"

Anders didn't reply immediately. She felt his eyes on her without needing to look back. "You don't remember?"

"No."

But as soon as she said it, she did. The sigh of the wind, the disobedience of the horse, Gillerd's arms around her, the singing and the fire bursting from the mountain… The coldness of stone against her skin…

"No," she whispered, fighting against understanding. She herself had been the sacrifice her onetime friend had meant all the time since she first came to Dragonstone. Now the small things that she had overlooked started piling up: Melisandre looking at her when people said that she resembled the portraits of Queen Rhaenys. The whispers in the village, as well as the halls of the castle, that it should have been her and not Elia who wed Rhaegar, that she was as dragonlike as they came. Melisandre staring from afar as Viserys trailed after her. Melisandre's interest in Naeryn's exact ancestry.  _Why didn't I_ see?

She knew the reason, though. Life had taught her so thoroughly that she was not like the other of her kin, that she was not even like the other Sands that she had never seen herself as having anything remotely royal about her. Unforgivable for someone who had studied  _blood_  sorcery. A weakness that had almost claimed her life.

"There were no dragons hatched, of course," Anders said quickly, coming to sit down on her bed. "We arrived in time… barely."

"There would have been none hatched anyway," Naeryn whispered. Aegon wasn't Azor Ahai, she knew that for sure.

"But you would have been dead all the same." His voice shook, he turned her over and took her in his arms. She admitted defeat and snuggled against him, shaking with the terror of that last night. "And I had no idea what was going on. Why do you always get entangled in such dangerous messes?"

She blinked. "What dangerous messes?"

That shook him into stunned silence but a moment later he recovered. "That was rich, even for you!"

"I didn't mean…"

He shook her without letting her go. "You go and jump into a river headfirst breaking everything there is to break – and you ask what dangerous messes?"

"I didn't want to jump there!"

He wasn't moved. "You come here to face an obsessed red priestess – and you ask what dangerous messes?"

"I didn't know she was this obsessed…"

"Your cousin, currently her obedient hound, repeatedly tries to kill you which you do your very best to hide – and you ask what dangerous messes?"

"What should I have done? Told you, so you could go after him?"

"The idea sounds great to me!"

She shook his arms off angrily and tried to rise but had to lie back down, humiliated. Whatever Melisandre had poured into her, it had sapped quite a bit of her energy. She should have known. It couldn't have been only sweet dreams.

"That's exactly why I didn't tell you. I didn't want you to get involved. I didn't want him to get hurt – he really isn't the one to blame, you know. He's innocent in all this."

He snorted. "Yes, that's exactly what I would think. He got himself outlawed because he was such a nice, peace-loving fellow. Just like his best friend, your other cousin Oberyn."

Her eyes bore holes into him. "It isn't Gillerd that we're talking about. Believe it or not, I didn't want to drag you into this vileness."

"Wasn't letting me believe that you were protecting someone you'd had an affair with vileness? Not to mention that it turned out to be a lie as well!" he retorted.

"I never  _told_  you it was a jilted lover!"

He waved this technicality away. "The intent was to deceive me so it was a lie. And you almost died because of it, you little fool. Do you understand? You almost  _died_!"

"How can I not understand when you're pointing it out so insistently," she murmured. The last words came out unintelligible because of the hard clattering of her teeth.

He swore and held her again. She clung to his solid warmth and let all the questions fade away.

Until, a little later, her aunt came to check on her.

"Aunt Ranna?" Naeryn asked, astounded. "What are you doing here?"

Ranna sighed. "Let's keep it short, all right? I'll explain more of it tomorrow. The short version is, your man Roderic got rightly scared about you and wrote Aemon. Alric insisted that they include me because I have a history with R'hllor and we barely managed to reach you before you got thrown into the volcano that was supposed to bring dragons back, or a single dragon perhaps, I am not sure about this. For now, everyone seems fine but we'll see. You're the first one who woke up. I hope Gillerd and Aegon both make a good recovery. In fact, I'm a little surprised by just how sound Aegon's sleep is. I expected nightmares but Elia says he's just fast asleep."

Naeryn had so many questions but she realized that she was in no state to take everything in so she limited herself to the most important questions. "Melisandre?"

"She's under guard in the dungeons," Ranna replied. She looked utterly exhausted, worn out and not a bit triumphant. "It's up to the King what happens to her."

"I feel sorry for her," Naeryn admitted softly. She could never say so to her mother or Anders – it suddenly occurred to her that this might be one of the reasons her aunt had ordered him out. They would only decide that she was very ill indeed. "I know she tried to kill me but she's truly devoted to a higher purpose. She didn't want to hurt  _me_."

"I know," Ranna agreed.

"And she wasn't… she wasn't wrong, in her visions, I guess. She rightly found her way to Dragonstone." Naeryn paused and nodded at the goblet at the table. Ranna brought it over and she drank.

"You know who the answer of the prophecy here is, don't you, Aunt?" Naeryn finally asked.

Ranna did not look away. "Of course I do," she said. "The little girl. I've known it since I first saw her in Sunspear."

"But you don't believe in teaching and preparing her?"

For a long time, the older woman stayed silent, busying herself with tidying the room up and rearranging the candlesticks so the light would not shine in Naeryn's eyes.

"No, I don't," Ranna finally said. "I'm too old to believe that you can shape someone to be the perfect answer of a prophecy. Because prophecies aren't clear-cut. She won't draw a flaming sort from the fire, not really. And I don't think the Azor Ahai's great deed happened the way we now believe it did."

Naeryn held her breath. "What do you mean?"

Ranna sighed. She had so hoped that she had left all that behind. When she had noticed the first signs of aging, she had been so joyful, for it guaranteed her that she'd live with Carral as any ordinary woman would – but also because she'd wither and die before the world become overcome by the changes she foresaw.

After all, when she had left with him, she had been someone who was already suspected and held in distrust because of the unusual beliefs she had come to embrace. Another ten years, and she might have ended up in R'hllor's fires herself.

"I don't believe Nissa Nissa was a willing sacrifice, no more than the Amethyst Empress wished to die from her brother's hands… or poor Allyria desired to lose her maidenhead to that creature's sword."

Naeryn's throat suddenly went dry, the true meaning of her aunt's words crashing in despite her attempts to fight it. "Or my mother wished to be used and betrayed by the usurping monster who desired what he had no right to and tried to take it and her," she whispered. "It's so different and yet the same, isn't it?"

All this time, she had known that dragons would come back in her lifetime but the scale the prophecies had stunned her. Silently, she turned her back at Ranna without caring whether she'd offend her, and curled in a ball that only relaxed a little when Anders slipped in bed, warm and soothing, and hers, unlike her mind, unlike half of her unroyal, unprophetical but so linked with all of that life.

 


	16. By the Candlelight

The two men wouldn't look at each other and wouldn't come in close contact, as if they had vowed to keep a certain distance. Rhaella's eyes moved from one to the other. She wanted to go and check on Aegon but didn't dare to leave the solar. The tension was such that Rhaegar could flare up at the merest provocation and Arthur Dayne wasn't this far behind. Of course, Arthur's worry was mainly about Elia if he had any to spare for Aegon at all. She truly wasn't sure. Sometimes, she thought it was a very bad practice to keep the Kingsguard the way they did. Trying to uproot any true emotions but loyalty out of them was bound to backfire. Visenya Targaryen might have thought it a desired result but Rhaella had long ago started feeling a slight unease at being in constant closeness of people who were  _meant_  to lose their humanity. She liked to think that the Kingsguard formed real human attachments to them – but she was not sure. If they had, they surely wouldn't have pretended that nothing happened when Aerys did those things to her?

She felt somewhat soothed by the presence of Arthur's brother, a staid man with a good head on his shoulders, if she was not mistaken. He would probably intervene if things went too far… but still Rhaella didn't dare leave.

Alric was not with them. She hoped that he had gone to have some rest because he looked like someone on the verge of collapse. Ranna was doing something with Naeryn and Gillerd and Rhaella most emphatically did not want to know what it was. Still, she would make sure that Ranna had a look at Aegon as well.

The woman sitting next to Lord Dayne was the one who held Rhaella's look for the longest moment. Alynna. Once again, Rhaella marveled at how much she resembled Elia. She was just a little rounder. Her face bore no trace of Elia's serenity either. Her eyes were constantly moving around, as if she expected a danger and was trying to overcome it. Rhaella had taken dislike to her from the moment she had met her at Sunspear a few months ago. The boy next to her looked at Rhaegar each time he thought himself unobserved and there was still the same bafflement and anguish in his face. The solar was possessed of a cheerful air, no doubt!

Finally, Ranna entered, looking extremely tired but smiling. "They're all fine," she said. "Everyone is fine. The Prince is sleeping and I think there won't be any lasting consequences."

Rhaella sighed in relief and a huge part of her concern was washed away. "Have a seat," she told Ranna. "Have some refreshments."

Rhaegar himself pulled a chair and asked Ranna if she was comfortable; she gave him a look as if a lion had escaped the royal menagerie and was inquiring after her health.

"So, is Elia coming?" Arthur asked and Rhaella thought it sounded strange. It was the first time that she heard Elia's name from his lips. Before, it had always been  _the Princess_ ,  _the Queen_ , or simply  _Her Grace_. Rhaegar gave him a quick look and Rhaella thought that he looked like someone who had taken offense.

"In a while," Ranna said and reached for the goblet of wine her daughter gave her. Rhaella noticed that she handled it very carefully, as if she had been burned recently; sickened, she realized that this might indeed be the case. The Red God's sorcery was not a benign one.

"My lady," Rhaegar said. "I owe you a lot and yet we haven't been introduced to each other. Or you," he added, looking at the younger woman.

Sighing, Rhaella made the first introduction. "This is Lady Ranna Gargalen," she said. "She was wed to Elia's late uncle."

"And that's my goodsister," Arthur added. "Lady Alynna Dayne."

 _How formal you are_ , Rhaella thought.  _Presenting her as if she's a great lady and not the wife of a minor lord._  For a moment, anger rose in her. If this girl hadn't decided that her love was more important than the realm, then… then what? She was not the type of woman that could hold Rhaegar's affection for long. She seemed to be too restless, too forceful. Harrenhall would still have occurred – and this was not the woman who would have displayed Elia's dignity. And then, with a jolt, Rhaella realized what the real reason for her dislike was. No matter what, Alynna had deemed  _her_  son not good enough, choosing instead the heir of a mere lord.

Rhaegar, though, looked intrigued. Rhaella thought that she could no longer understand her own son. He gave Alynna a curious look that she returned with hostility that she didn't try to hide. Too late, Rhaella realized that he had forgotten just how many loved ones she had lost to his war. Or perhaps he had never known. Elia had seen no reason to share her pain with someone like this. That was how she had called him soon after his return, in one of the moments when the pain of her burns had made her talk to Rhaella unguardedly –  _someone like this_.

Rhaegar noticed the young woman's dislike and his own behavior changed to cold formality. "May I talk to you, my lady?" he asked. "Alone, if you please."

Alynna didn't hesitate. "I am honoured, Your Grace, but I have made it a tenet not to talk to men of standing without my husband being present."

That was such a blatant lie that Rhaella almost laughed. But the look her son gave the young woman made Alynna reconsider, and fast. Silently, she rose and followed without saying anything more.

"I'll be back soon," she said and Arel nodded.

It didn't take long for Rhaegar to reach the chamber he had in mind. It was just two doors down the hall, a smaller solar with dark blue curtains and dragon tapestries on the walls. He gestured at Alynna to take a seat. She did so and he noticed that she shivered with cold – there was no fire in the hearth at this hour – but didn't rub her hands together. She did, however, followed his striding around the room with her eyes half-closed and he realized that she was scared.

The night was getting even more surreal. First, the red priestess had almost thrown a woman in the mouth of a burning volcano, with Aegon being involved because for some reason, Rhaegar had thought it was a good idea. Then, Elia had appeared out of thin air. Next thing he knew, Arthur was asking about her just like any ordinary husband would which shouldn't have surprised Rhaegar but for some reason, it did. And now this Alynna looked scared that he might consider throwing  _her_  from the highest rock in the sea when he was not angry with her at all and didn't wish any ill upon her. He was just… damn it, he was too embarrassed to ask the question but he had to because she could disappear just as fast as she had appeared and he would be left with no answers at all.

Still, he felt bashful.

Whipping around, he asked sharply, "Do you happen to have a portrait of you showing you in very… intimate scenes?"

Yes, intimate was a good way to put it. He felt ridiculously proud for not blushing at all.

Alynna Dayne inclined her head to her side, visibly taken aback. Then, she looked at him and there was no shame in her eyes. "Yes, I do. Or at least, I think I do… I thought I had had all of those destroyed."

 _All of those…_  Rhaegar had not believed it could become worse but it just had.

She gave him a curious look. "How do you know about those, Your Grace?"

"Because I found one of them hanging in a brothel and clients thinking it was showing Elia," he said roughly.

That finally made her go pale. "By the Mother," she murmured.

"Indeed," Rhaegar agreed, glad that she seemed to have grasped the gravity of the situation immediately. "So, how many of those were painted?"

"I don't know," Lady Dayne replied. "My first husband, Errol Gargalen, made lots of portraits of me…"

"And always without a stitch of clothing?" Rhaegar demanded, exasperated. The Faith would have had a field day with this woman if the septons could hear her, there might be other portraits showing what everyone would presume was Elia, and she did not look even a tad ashamed. Only women of the brothels frequented by highborn would ever accept to be drawn in such ridiculous parodies of love goddesses.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "It never shames a woman that her husband wants her," she said bluntly. "It only shames her when he does not."

This time, Rhaegar did blush. Was she hinting of his own treatment of Elia? Perhaps she was – her anger had pushed the fear away.

"How do you think it found its way there?" he asked. "That's a long way for a portrait to travel."

She nodded thoughtfully. "When I returned home after my husband's death, I had all the paintings that he had drawn and given me as presents burned. I only saved the ones depicting the children. I had a big stake in the yard of Salt Shore made…" Her voice faded. Later, she had regretted her action bitterly but there had been no going back.

All of a sudden, Rhaegar realized just who she was and how much she had lost. How she had lost her husband. Elia had thrown that in his face in one of the outbursts she had still been prone to in the beginning. And Arthur had mentioned briefly the sad circumstances surrounding his brother's second wedding. All of a sudden, he saw Alynna Dayne as something more than the wanton woman he had cursed each time he thought about the portrait.

"He was more than your husband," he heard himself say, wondering how he would have felt it he had lost both Lyanna and Elia – more than the way he had lost them anyway.

"He was the blood in my veins and the marrow in my bones." Alynna inclined her head and then looked up. "You can show the portraits to the world, Your Grace. With my name attached. I won't care."

"And your husband won't either?" Rhaegar inquired.

That made her stop and hesitate. He sighed. He didn't know what to make of her, how to treat her. It was unworthy of him, goading her like this. He was simply unaccustomed to women like her, a mix between Naeryn's undisguised flaunting of her attractiveness and Elia's understanding of wifely dignity.

"I hope it won't come to that," he said, his voice softer. "How many portraits are there?"

She shook her head. "I… I don't know."

So he had painted her till the end. For a moment, Rhaegar wondered what it would feel like to adore a person one had lived with for nine years. It had to be nine – she had run away on him when he had been fifteen. Nine years being the blood in someone's veins and having them be the same to you. He had had a similar feeling with Lyanna – and it had not lasted for more than a few years, if this long.

Alynna was trying to remember and coming up empty-handed. "I don't know," she said again, helplessly.

For a moment, Rhaegar stared at her, at her haunted eyes and trembling lips before saying, "I'll have this portrait sent to you if that's your wish. I believe you should be the one to decide what to do with it."

The flash of gratitude in her eyes made him feel that he had finally done something right in this nightmarish night.

* * *

 

As Lady Dayne returned to the others, Rhaegar headed for Aegon's chambers. Jaime Lannister was not in front of the door and that was good – the boy needed tending himself, as well as some rest. Instead, Ser Gerold moved to make way for the King but suddenly, Rhaegar wasn't quick to enter. Elia was probably still there and he didn't truly want to face her. But at the end, he pushed the door open and came to the bed slowly, soundlessly, the candle on the central table lighting his way.

He felt Elia's eyes on him even before he made out her figure in the chair next to the bed – cold, hostile.

"How is he?" he asked and leaned over, not quite close, so he could see their son's face in the faint light.

"He'll be fine." Elia's voice was soft for Aegon's sake. She turned back to glare at Rhaegar again. "You and your prophecies again! What were you trying to achieve?"

"Not  _this_ ," he replied honestly.

"Are you ever going to learn?"

She rose angrily and waved him over to the window, as far from Aegon as possible. Despite being quite unwilling to engage in the quarrel that was sure to ensure, he followed.

True to his expectations, Elia did not lose a moment. "What in the name of gods made you think that giving this woman access to Aegon's young mind was a good thing?"

"I didn't think she'd go this far," he admitted. "I wasn't planning on letting her influence him so much. I just… I just wanted her to impress him so I could…"

It was clear to Elia that his regret was a sincere one. She did not doubt that he was telling the truth – and she did not care.

Once, the woman tasked with attending her bastard brother Ivorr had told Elia that for all her kindness, there was a little Other inhabiting her soul. He was small and pale, with dead blue eyes and a pointed tail, sitting on Elia's shoulder and prodding her to do loathsome things. For a long time, she had peeked into the mirror hoping to catch him but he was always quicker to disappear than she was to spot him. But sometimes, she felt his presence – like now.

"Because you cannot make impression on him, can you?" she mocked. "That's it, isn't it? He knows that you've sent him to this damned island all alone while you keep your other family close by and he doesn't believe a single word coming from your mouth, am I right? Or am I right?"

She saw how his face contorted and knew that she had nailed the issue. It gave her no joy. Her son shouldn't feel like his father didn't want him, that he had gotten rid of him for his new queen's sake. It was bad enough that he probably heard similar things about his mother and her new family.

"You went too far," Rhaegar whispered, his face now taut with anger. "Stop now, before we say the unforgivable to each other."

For a moment, Elia drew back in fear. A thought flashed through her mind: she had never truly had the chance to find out Rhaegar's thoughts on the matter of a husband's right to beat his wife black and blue. But she was angry enough to not let this stop her. "Unforgivable? You think we can say something more unforgivable than what you  _did_? You sent Aegon here to rot and then almost turned him into a murderer – a kinslayer – because you still couldn't get this cursed prophecy out of your head! Wasn't the war enough? Wasn't our children's near death enough? Do you need to actually sacrifice them, one way or another, on the altar of your great prophecy that won't work for you?"

His normally pale face was now white as death. "At least I did something to ensure Aegon's throne," he whispered back. "While you didn't have the time – you were too busy lying on your back."

She stared at him open-mouthed. Somehow, she had never expected that he might sink to  _this_  argument. "You dare say this to me after you created his rival with another woman and to make it worse,  _wed_  her? Why do you care about the things happening under my sheets when they hadn't been of any interest to you for years? At least I waited until our marriage got dissolved!"

Through the veil of Rhaegar's anger, there was the faint realization that she might have been disappointed with him not visiting her bedchamber at night. But it disappeared almost immediately. Of course she would be. Spending the night with her would have meant bolstering her dignity and power as queen – and that was all she had wanted of him. During the last years of their marriage, he had thought of renewing their marital relationship but the fear always stopped him, the fear of finding that he was, in fact, doing to her what his father had done to his mother. He had been well aware that he'd find no love or lust to moisten the channel, that she'd be completely dry – and she was now using his consideration against him.

Had she ever been dry for Arthur? Rhaegar very much doubted it.

"For how long has it been going on?" he demanded grimly. "Before we wed?"

She gasped with indignation. Of course she was indignant. He knew that she had been a maiden in their wedding night – but she was not the only one who could ask provocative questions. Elia smiled sweetly.

"The night I was finally rid of you," she said conversationally.

The night he had asked Arthur to go with her to Dorne? She was lying. She had to. She wouldn't risk being caught up in the act in the middle of the Red Keep. But there had been so many nights during their travel to Dorne…

She was staring at him with her hands on her hips. "How did this conversation turn to me and Arthur?" she demanded. "It's you who should explain some things to me. Do you really intend to bolster Aegon's claim by sending him to this… this cemetery? Or was it something that you chose in order to please your queen? That was the initial plan, wasn't it?"

 _This traitor. He has told her._  Suddenly, Rhaegar realized just why it was so important that Kingsguard served for life.

"I never meant to do it," he said because somehow, it looked important to convince her that this madness would have never come to fruition. It surprised him to find out that he still wanted to stay in her good graces but he wanted it, so he went on, "It was just one of the things people say when they're in love."

She laughed harshly and then looked at the bed guiltily to make sure that Aegon hadn't awoken. "And entering the lists of a tournament in order to specifically humiliate your wife was just another of those things, I am sure." She shook her head. "And you  _dare_  talk about Arthur and me."

"It's different for women," he said and immediately regretted it. Gods, he sounded like his father!

"Why?" Elia asked and he took back his earlier thoughts of wifely dignity. The worst part was that he didn't really have anything convincing to say and that irritated him again.

"It just is," he said. "You can sleep soundly, I am not planning to disinherit Aegon. I'll do all in my power to advance him since you clearly can't be relied on for this. You'll probably be busy giving birth every year or so."

Elia made a step forward, her hand raised, as if she wanted to slap him. He didn't step back.

"Did you know?" he asked with morbid curiosity.

She nodded. "Of course I did," she said calmly. "Or at least, I suspected. For two years, I wondered whether the maesters were wrong."

The enormity of her betrayal stunned Rhaegar. Somehow, he had managed to convince himself that she hadn't suspected, that she was as much Pycelle's victim as he was. But this? She knew how important this was to him even if she did not believe in the prophecy. He had always gone out of his way to treat her well, even after he found out what love was. He hadn't sent her away from court keeping the children as he could have. He hadn't accorded Lyanna higher status than hers at court. He had sought her advice and let her influence grow – and that was how she repaid him?

"You selfish whore," he said evenly. What he felt was not even anger. It was disgust beyond words. "You might have just sent the world – with our children in it – to its doom simply because you couldn't take the smallest notch on your pride. I cannot believe how wrong I was about you."

"That makes two of us," Elia shot back. “And I wouldn’t bring out the whore defense in your place. Should we ask people, from the lowliest farmer to the great lords, who has the whorish ways?”

In the bottom of the chamber, their son stirred. They both looked at him and then at each other, their hatred so deep that even the love for this child could not build a bridge.

 

 


	17. Bad Air

"What did he do?" Arthur asked as soon as he came near. Elia's white face and the fire in her eyes that had yet to abate were unmistakable signs that something had gone wrong.

She smiled a little to show him that she was fine. "We quarreled," she said. "Very badly. Doesn't matter."

"It does to me." His voice had turned icy. "How dare he upset you tonight, of all nights?"

Her smile grew, she looked really amused. "Because he's Rhaegar?" she suggested. "Because he does things when he thinks he ought, and everyone else should play along? Or have you forgotten?"

He smiled as well. It was a good thing that they could be so shocked, indeed. That meant that they had started forgetting what life at King's Landing had  _tasted_  like. Rhaegar had dared everything, always certain that he was in the right.

Wounds had started healing over.

Sighing, Elia came to him and reached out. He embraced her. "I can't believe no one died," she murmured. "We're so very lucky."

"Perhaps the Red God loves us, after all," Arthur jested and she laughed. Sometimes, when he said things that were wildly brazen, given the events at hand, she was reminded that he  _was_  Ashara's brother.

"I am thinking of allowing an extra red priest to celebrate this love," Elia said, continuing the play.

"Make it two," he suggested and then their anxious merriment went away, leaving only the overwhelming relief that it was over.

For a while, they held each other, feeling their strength coming back.

"Go now," Elia said. "I'll come in a while. Keep the bed warm for me because I think I'm going to sleep the entire day, the night, and the day after." She felt so spent that she was ready to sleep for an entire week.

Arthur released her and went to the bed where he stayed, staring at the sleeping boy. Nothing about Aegon revealed the horrible ordeal that had taken place mere hours ago.

Aegon had grown up so much in the last few months. He'd keep growing and changing and Arthur suddenly felt bereft that he wouldn't be there to see the changes taking place – not even noticing them, in fact. All that he could do from now on was taking them in at each meeting – and only the gods knew how much time there would be between those.  _Elia is so strong for accepting it_ , he thought and turned to the door.

Elia touched his hand. "Arthur!"

"Yes?"

Her face was very serious, her voice forceful. "Whatever you do, don't get into conflict with Rhaegar. We don't need more of those. I just want to preserve whatever I can of that brittle truce we had! Don't quarrel with him. Please."

Arthur smiled. "Elia, do you think I would do such a thing?"

"Without thinking twice," she replied and returned to her son's side.

 _She knows me better than I'd like_ , Arthur thought when he left the bedchamber.

At the door, Ser Gerold stirred a little. "Where are you going?" he asked, not quite looking at him.  _Of course._  Elia was not the only one who knew what his posture and step meant, let alone his expression.

"I'm going to teach the King the lesson that we all tried to avoid getting at him and his father," Arthur replied calmly and without looking back, headed off to find Rhaegar. Just as he expected, Ser Gerold didn't try to follow, despite the holes Arthur felt the old man's eyes digging into his back. Perhaps he should have felt remorseful for baiting the Lord Commander like this but he didn't. They were completely different people who had been united only by their shared service; now that this bond was severed, Arthur remembered comradeship and shared hardships, but he also remembered the pointed barbs, the silent agreement that some things were better left unspoken because Arthur was a Dayne of Dorne and Gerold was a Hightower of the Reach and they could never see eye to eye. Still, the Lord Commander had allowed himself occasional liberties that the mere  _brother_  Ser Arthur had been deprived from. And the fact that he had tried to seduce Lady Aelinor, use her downfall after Maelys the Monstrous' affair that, for her, had ended up in a tragedy beyond imagination, was something that had branded him forever as unworthy in Arthur's eyes.

Arthur kept walking. He had no idea where Rhaegar's chambers were but he figured out that he wouldn't be wrong if he sought him out somewhere on the walls, in the most wretched places of all. And he wasn't. The King stood on the top of the seaward wall, his face raised against the hissing wind, his hair blown straight into his eyes. Surprisingly, the harp was nowhere in sight. Perhaps it had been too heavy to drag all over the narrow, wet steps.

"What are you doing here?" Rhaegar asked as soon as Arthur came close enough. The cold disdain in his eyes was made even colder by the very faint starlight. Arthur was stunned to find out how coolly he took it in, how little he cared. It was as if the last ten years had never taken place, as if he had never been Rhaegar's friend.

"I want you to leave Elia alone," he said without hesitation. "Do not dare pick a quarrel with her. She's been through enough. And it isn't over yet. There will be more days that she'll spend worrying over Aegon. If you have to take it out of someone, come to me, I'll oblige gladly."

Rhaegar stared at him with faint curiosity. "Does she spend her days worrying over the babe?" he asked and then realized how he had sounded. For a moment, Arthur looked down and Rhaegar cursed himself. No matter how much Elia and the traitor here deserved it, it was low of him – and he hadn't even meant it, he had just stricken back. "I am sorry about him," he added.

Arthur regained control over himself. "You got what you wanted!"

"That's the last thing I've ever wanted!" Rhaegar snapped. "Do you think I could ever wish ill upon a babe?"

Arthur laughed without bothering to reply.

An unpleasant memory came to Rhaegar's mind. Just a few months ago, at hearing about Elia's son, the Lord Commander had exclaimed, "The Seven have a strange way of doing things! They deserved it and they have no right to complain now. They reap as they sow…"

"Stop it!" Rhaegar had cut in, angrily. "I'll pretend I have not heard you, Ser Gerold. We're talking about an innocent babe here. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone. What's wrong with you?!"

He had tried to leave the memory behind because the thought that his Lord Commander was someone who thought such a sorrow a just thing was extremely disturbing. Had Jaime Lannister been present at this conversation instead of at Dragonstone, Rhaegar could have found himself short of a Lord Commander. The boy had a temper sharper than his blade.

Now he wondered… Was it possible that the normally self-possessed Lord Commander had decided that Rhaegar  _cherished_  the news? Was that the reason for his unguarded speech?

Was this how his Kingsguard saw him? As this dishonourable being who took delight in the suffering of innocents?

"Come on, Arthur," Rhaegar invited. "Why don't you tell me everything? I think you've got a lot of feelings pent-up."

"Ten years of them," Arthur confirmed. To his irritation, the position they were standing in facing each other drew the wind straight into his eyes, making them well up. "But I won't do it now. I promised her that I wouldn't. But I'm warning you, Rhaegar, don't you dare upset her, or you'll answer to me."

Rhaegar almost laughed. What impudence! Arthur spun back and walked away, his cloak billowing behind him. It was strange to see him in attire that was not white. As if he wasn't the same person. As if he was of the night.

It was almost dawn when Arthur finally knocked at the front door of the single inn in the island. His hand immediately shot to his head to make sure his silver hair was covered. There were some other highborn guests here, having arrived to celebrate the Prince of Dragonstone's birthday, and he wanted to minimize the risk of being recognized.

To his surprise, Alynna didn't step forward to join him. "Go in," she said. "Wait for Elia. Arel and I will be a little late."

 _We're all late already_ , Arthur thought and looked at the brightening sky but didn't say anything. His brother looked as taken aback as he was.

"We need to talk, Arel," Alynna said. "And I'd rather not do it inside."

Arel shrugged but followed her. He had no idea where they were going but he trusted her to know. His lady wife was one of the people who got an excellent sense of orientation and rarely forgot a path she had trodden once.

"It's beautiful," he breathed at the sight of the sea stirring up under the soft caress of the dawn. It wasn't the serene beauty of an early morning that Starfall possessed but it was impressive nonetheless. The sea roared to life, raised a golden mane and shook it as an ancient beast of grace, cruelty, and power that could not be contained. Far away, the dragons of the castle looked as if they were breathing the sun in and fire out.

"It is." Alynna's voice was absent-minded. She was terribly pale. He looked around for a rock to seat her on and found none. "I can't believe that they were going to kill Naeryn because of… That Gillerd…"

Her voice broke. She started shaking. He reached for the clasp of his cloak but she stopped him by coming near and pressing herself against him. "I don't want you to give me things," she mumbled when he embraced her.

"It pleases me to do so," he told her and drew a hand down her back, rubbing it. She was very cold, much more than she should. Her babes had taken some of her health, although she was still stronger than most women in Westeros. It was a good thing that the old rule of a tooth for a babe had not turned out to be true for her.

Her reply was muffled against his chest and he didn't hear much of it. Only  _don't_. Then, she drew back and looked at him. "I'm sorry," she said.

Arel frowned, confused. "What for?" he asked carefully. Sometimes, he truly couldn't understand women – and his lady wife least of all.

"These flames, Arel," Alynna tried to explain. "This fire. It was as if it burned the bonds…"

He still couldn't get her meaning, she could see it. "I love you," she said. "What I have been doing to you for months! How could you put up with me and not once complain? Oh Arel, I was such a fool. What kind of woman would cling to memories when she could have something real – when she  _has_  something real? What kind of woman would prefer a dead husband to a living one? I should have left Errol where he belonged long ago, not waiting for this terrible night and this terrible woman to burn him. I am sorry!"

She took his hand and squeezed it. He drew a palm across her cheek. He was still not saying anything. Alynna sighed and for the first time in months looked at him straight in the eye without the feeling that she was doing something that she shouldn't. "You never stopped loving me, did you?"

He shook his head. "No, Alynna, never."

"And you knew that one day, I'd be able to leave him once again where he belongs?"

"I never doubted that."

She frowned, suddenly angry. "So it was only me who felt torn and anguished?"

Her voice sounded indignant. The rising light bathed her face, giving colour to her pale cheeks and sparkle to her eyes. She looked like the woman from a year ago. A _year_ …

"I didn't say I  _liked_  waiting," Arel said and then laughed. "Can you tell me that you would have come to the truth if I had told you what you just told me? Including the part that you were being a fool?"

"Never," she replied without hesitation. "I would have thought you were devoid of feelings or worse, pitying me."

"Exactly," her husband agreed. "So where did this leave me?"

Alynna didn't want to admit the truth. But she liked where their current truth left him. She reached out and brought his face down for a kiss.

Aegon was getting worse.

It took some time for Rhaegar to realize it. The entire day, he tried to behave as if nothing had happened – he read missives, he received guests from Essos, he strolled through the castle to make the people stop talking about what had happened last night as soon as they saw him… In the rare moments when he allowed his mind some rest, the images from last night flashed through his mind and his gorge rose again at the thought of what had almost happened. A few times, he thought of having the red priestess brought to him for inquiries but the dragon roaring inside him scared him. He felt that he could kill her upon the spot or summon his father's old torturers to work on her. Questioning her had to wait for the time he was more self-possessed.

Once or twice, the thought crossed his mind that he still hadn't been informed that Aegon had woken up. He even felt angry with his mother who was punishing him in this childish way, keeping him without news. For the Seven's sake, Rhaella behaved as if he was still this seven-year-old who she had used to punish by not talking to him! Did she think that such a thing would have effect now? She tried it anyway.

It was well after sunset that he put the last documents away. A letter from Pentos, the flowery phrases taking as much as the message. He had missed the feast in the great hall – something that happened to him from time to time when he was too busy – and tried to move his numb feet. He had spent hours without rising.

He expected that he'd find Aegon asleep and for a moment, he thought he had. But when he came at the bedside, he noticed the flushed cheeks, the shallow breathing, the tossing in the bed. The purple eyes were opened… no, half-closed. And unseeing. Instinctively, Rhaegar reached out and took Aegon's hand, only to almost drop it immediately. He had the feeling that he had touched a parchment – a dry burning parchment.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked his mother who had risen and stepped aside at his entering.

"A bad fever," Rhaella said. "The maester said…"

"A bad  _fever_?" Rhaegar repeated. That was what he hated most about great celebrations – the close contact with hundreds of people, each one of whom could carry the Seven knew what diseases…

But he had not heard about fever at Dragonstone. When he asked his mother, she confirmed that there wasn't another case.

"Then how did Aegon contract it?" Rhaegar asked.

"Perhaps during his little trip last night?" Rhaella snapped. But they both knew that was no common cold. And they also knew that this wasn't like any of the fevers Aegon had suffered before. Not that he had suffered many. He was an overwhelmingly healthy child, as if the Seven had decided to give him his mother's fair share of health besides his own.

"Why wasn't I told that he was ill?"

"Because we thought we could get it under control." Rhaella's voice had become soft, subdued.

The fact that they hadn't did not need to be said aloud. Rhaegar cursed himself for not finding the time to come here sooner – but how could he have known that Aegon would be not just exhausted but ill? Elia had gone to the inn sometime after sunrise, he had been informed. She would have never left if their son was anything but perfectly healthy.

The maester of Dragonstone – now Rhaegar realized that he didn't even know his name – came near the bed again and started to place a cold cloth on Aegon's forehead. Rhaegar pushed his hand aside. "I'll do it," he said briefly, suddenly desperate to be doing something to help, even if it wasn't really helping.

One cloth after another… Herbs and potions… and yet Aegon's fever only rose, his skin almost peeling off.

"Are you sure there isn't anyone else in the castle who's sick?" Rhaegar asked again. "Think better!"

"If there is, they haven't contacted me, Your Grace," the maester said again and that was the answer Rhaegar feared.

What was this fever anyway? Too high, too sudden, all of a sudden… Hundreds of guests meant hundreds of agendas.  _No_ , Rhaegar thought.  _I cannot think like this. I am not my father!_

Hundreds of guests meant hundreds of agendas… His fear grew. Aegon's breathing became shorter and more shallow until, sometime after midnight, he could not take breath at all.

Rhaella moaned and the maester's hands started flying against the boy's chest and throat. After a few terrible moments that must have lasted ten years, the faint shade of breath passed through Aegon's lips and the old man's shoulders sagged in relief.

The decision came upon Rhaegar all of a sudden. Or perhaps it had been there all night long. Something wanted to take his son away. He could not explain it and he realized that he might be well be as mad as his father but he truly believed it. There was evil under this roof. Hundreds of agendas… There was evil here and it wanted Aegon, so he needed to take him away from this chamber, this castle… As obedient as a puppet to this sudden feeling, he rose.

His mother gasped in horror. The maester opened his mouth and closed it. "Where are you taking him?" Rhaella almost yelled. "He's too ill, he cannot be moved…"

"He'll only become worse if he stays here," Rhaegar replied and something in his eyes made Rhaella swallow and shut up.

Rhaegar wrapped his son in two blankets, waited impatiently until Rhaella fumbled with the shoes. They were so small that it hurt him watching at them. Aegon was just a child. A child who  _had_  to grow up.

No, not just a child. The Prince of Dragonstone. The heir of the Iron Throne.

In the hallway, Ser Jonothor stared at him, mouth agape. "Come on," Rhaegar said curtly and almost ran down the hall, mindless of who might see him.

At the foot of the stairs, Lyanna drew back and her eyes widened when she saw him running down. "What are you doing?" she cried. "Where are you carrying Aegon?"

"Out of here," Rhaegar replied, stopping only for a moment when he reached her. "This castle isn't good for him."

"Is he ill?" she asked. "I was going upstairs to see him…"

Now, Rhaegar stopped dead in his tracks, staring at his queen in the candlelight. Since when had she started visiting Aegon? All she had been doing for the last few weeks was nagging him for paying more attention to the boy that he had  _ever_ done their own son.

" _You created his rival with another woman…"_

" _You promise that you'd send them there and they won't be part of our lives at all? I know it sounds terrible but I love you too much to share you. You cannot prefer them to me and our children, Rhaegar, because if I find out that you do…"_

"Don't you know?" he asked.

Lyanna drew back and went pale. In Rhaegar's wild eyes, she read something that she had never, ever expected she'd see there. Accusation! She shook her head and opened her mouth but no sound could make the way out. When she finally regained her speech, Rhaegar, Aegon, and Ser Jonothor had long disappeared.

She felt such a shock that she had to lean against the wall. It wasn't possible that Rhaegar blamed her for his son's illness! He didn't know what he was talking about. Did he?

For a while, she just stood there, taking in the bleak realization that their relationship had just deteriorated further.

"Where are we going?"

The wind almost blew Ser Jonothor's words away. Rhaegar pretended not to have heard them because in truth, he didn't know the answer. He looked impatiently at Aegon's face as if hoping that the removal from the castle would lead to immediate improvement. Of course, it hadn't.

"Give him to me," the Kingsguard called out again. He had seen that in the night wind the King's arms were almost numb against the boy.

"No," Rhaegar replied. The very thought of letting go of Aegon scared him, as if he'd be… letting go.

The few lights of the fishing village had already risen in front of him when he realized where they were headed.

A few sharp knocks and just as many words on the front door of the inn were enough; shaking from head to foot, the innkeeper showed them upstairs. Ser Jonothor knocked at the indicated door three times and before he could knock again, Arthur opened the door, half-dressed.

Rhaegar's first look was at the bed. Elia was sleeping with her face turned toward them. There was a faint smile playing about her mouth, as if she was having a nice dream. Arthur saw what Rhaegar was carrying and gasped. "What…"

Rhaegar entered the light of the single candle at the bedside, so his former Kingsguard and friend could see the entirety of the horror. Arthur's eyes widened and he looked at Ser Jonothor. "Out."

Rhaegar turned back with the faint feeling of nothing of that being real. He had been  _wed_  to the woman Arthur was waking up, yet he should now look away as she put a robe on.

"What's wrong with him?" Elia asked, fighting to contain her horror, and all of a sudden Rhaegar felt that he could breathe, at last. He had brought Aegon exactly where he needed to be.

 

 


	18. Darkened Hearts

The girl's movements were soft and delicate, so subtle that it was almost impossible to follow them. One moment, her fingers were brushing hair away from Aegon's forehead and holding the lock upright to inspect it and the next, she was sliding them along a blue vein in the boy's lower arm and seemingly checking the exact shade of blue it was. And although Rhaegar hadn't moved his eyes away from her for a heartbeat, he could never say when she had gone this far down.

She leaned forward to touch her head to Aegon's chest and Elia made a quick step forward as if to warn her away but Arthur stopped her; relieved, Rhaegar saw that the girl was very careful indeed not to let her head drop on Aegon's chest. His breathing was labored enough.

The girl rose to full height and the flames of all the candles in the room caressed her long golden hair, lighting a flame at the ends. She looked at Alric. "A clotted windpipe?" she suggested and he nodded curtly. "I didn't know such a thing was even possible," she added.

"It shouldn't be, Tyene," he said. "But I think you've nailed it down. I know of causing the windpipe to contract, leading to suffocation when the mouth opens to take nourishments or drinks that interrupt the float of breathing even for a moment but this… And he hasn't taken anything to eat or drink for a while, has he?" he added, looking at Rhaegar.

"No," Rhaegar said and then realized that he didn't truly know. It felt like years since the moment he had first entered his son's bedchamber to find him like this but it had only been hours. And while he was positive that Aegon had refused even a drop of water even as his lips cracked, he couldn't say what had taken place before. "I… I don't know."

"Why am I not surprised," Alric muttered angrily, leaning over the bed again but right now, Rhaegar was in no mood to snap back. Not to the only man who might be able to help.

"Is he going to die?" Rhaegar asked with a catch in his voice. Next to him, Elia gasped with horror.

Alric rose and grimaced, rubbing his back. "I don't know. But whatever he has breathed in there, it's no longer a continuing threat. Not here."

Rhaegar's breath caught, his worst fears just confirmed.

"What is it that you're saying, my lord?" he asked, suddenly desperate for another explanation. Every other explanation would do.

"There is something in the air that he had been breathing, I think. If it had been in the foods or drinks, it should have gone away when he started refusing nourishment."

Elia circled around her father and dabbed the sweat from Aegon's forehead with a soft linen. Rhaegar thought how lucky they were that Aegon's instincts, the gods, or whatever had preserved him, prompting him to reject anything given to him with such fierceness that Rhaegar and the rest of them had deemed it wiser to stop trying. But then, the gravity of the situation sank in and he caught Alric's eye in the glitter of the candles as the woman, Ranna Gargalen, was undressing Aegon fully.

"Speak bluntly," he said. "This isn't the moment for hints and hidden meanings."

"I suspect that someone had modified the strangler for him. To make the windpipe rough and so swollen that it would suck in everything he takes through his mouth."

Once again, Rhaegar's memory proved far too helpful, providing him with the explanation of what this rare poison was. He went white.

"Here, in our ancestral seat?"

"Yes."

"To my own son?"

"Yes," Alric said and paused. "Your heir."

Rhaegar didn't ask the obvious question – it was neither the time nor the place. Near the window, Arthur stood with his brother and Elia's cousin, the three of them listening carefully and as soon as it became clear that no one would say anything more, they leaned against each other and started talking in hushed tones. Rhaegar did his best not to listen to them, too afraid of the name he might overhear.

Tyene Sand was pouring a clear liquid into a goblet, counting the drops. Then, she added some greenish herbs ground to powder. Alric watched her movements with his eyes narrowed. When she added some water, he looked at Rhaegar. "Go to the castle," he said. "You cannot help here."

Rhaegar hesitated but this unexpected show of compassion swayed his decision Alric's way. His former goodfather hadn't voiced the suspicions everyone in the room, including Rhaegar, held. He hadn't accused Rhaegar of being the one to blame for Aegon's state by going after his prophecy those seven years ago. He hadn't reminded Rhaegar that he had been the one to bring Lyanna in Aegon's vicinity when he could have.

"I'll be back at first light," Rhaegar said.

"Noon," Lady Ranna corrected. "Give us some time."

The King nodded and looked at Ser Jonothor Darry. "You're staying here," he said. "You'll obey Princess Elia's every command. And you won't let anyone come in this room without her permission."

The Kingsguard gave him a look of anguish. "But if the Queen Mother comes here? Or… someone else?"

"My mother won't come," Rhaegar said. She wouldn't - if nothing else, she'd hate to bring attention to the inn. "If she does, though, let her in. But everyone else is subjected to the Princess' wishes. If it comes down to a conflict between the Queen Mother's wishes and those of the Princess, Elia's take precedence. In fact, her will shall be obeyed over anyone else's but my own."

It felt so strange to say such things, give Elia more power than she had ever held as queen. But everything in the last few days had been so strange. He leaned over Aegon, kissed his burning forehead and left. Behind him, Elia drew a chair near the bed.

"Here," he heard Lady Ranna say. "I'll show you how to keep him comfortable."

Shadows of forms and shades of whispers. Echoes of light and shine of screams. Swords burning bright and worlds cracking like eggshells. And when the milky blade cut the sky in two, when the half-moon turned blooded and the stars fell in a heap of light taking one last flickering breath before darkness engulfed them, Gillerd the Exiled opened his eyes.

The light was blinding, cutting through his eyes like a thousand of blades. He tried to raise his hands to protect his eyes but the things fell down halfway, as if they were separate entities to his body. He closed his eyes and waited for the white light penetrating his eyelids to abate. Then, he lifted his eyelashes a little. The light didn't suck his eyes out, so he opened them all the way and then…

"Tell me that I am seeing things, my lord."

"You're seeing things."

Gillerd closed his eyes but after a moment opened them, quite scared that he  _wasn't_. But when he looked at the man who had fostered him, all he could see was Naeryn's white face as he carried her to the gaping chops of the fire hell… He tried to rise but Lord Qorgyle expected this and immediately pressed him back. "Easy, easy. No one was hurt. Everyone is fine now."

"Naeryn! She…"

"She's fine," Lord Qorgyle said calmly. "We arrived in time. We stopped the ritual before it could be finished. Lady Naeryn is already up and about and the red priestess is expecting the King's justice."

"His justice?" Gillerd spat, angered anew. "He let the bitch go near his son and ensnare him… I do not trust his justice more than I do his sound judgment. Both have been proven appallingly lacking." He paused. "Is the boy well?"

"He made it out, like everyone else," Lord Qorgyle replied.

Gillerd tried to think through the fog clogging his mind. A coherent train of thought escaped him, just like peace of mind did. "Who is with you?" he asked. " _We_  arrived, you said. Who has come? Why?"

"Your uncle," Lord Qorgyle said. "Your cousin Elvar and Lady Ranna. The two Daynes and the Princess. And Lady Alynna, of course."

"Of course," Gillerd murmured. "What can happen without her sticking her nose in? She was like this even when she was with Errol. How long has it been since…? " Since what? He didn't remember and something in him warned that he was far better off this way. He was so exhausted that he heeded this voice, for now.

"Three days and three nights."

"Three days!" Gillerd murmured, surprised that he didn't feel or smell anything nasty about the bedcovers. Someone has been taking good care of him.

"Lady Ranna and Lady Aelinor took turns to take care of you," his foster father explained. "We also helped, of course."

"Aunt Ranna," Gillerd whispered. "Aelinor I can understand, she's never been the one to sit idle and let the others make decisions for her but Ranna…"

There was a long silence. Lord Qorgyle went to stoke the fire since even in summer, Dragonstone was never protected against the cold fingers of mists. Gillerd silently watched him, noticing the changes time had brought up: more grey in the hair, more portlier frame, a slight impediment to the fluidity of movements. Life had gone on without him. He closed his eyes, fighting the burning in his chest.

Finally, Lord Qorgyle returned to his side. "We were all wrong about her," he said. "The lady isn't what we thought she was. She wields the power of the red god. She fought the red woman might for might and they caused an earthquake but she stopped the volcano from erupting."

Gillerd looked at him as if he were dealing with a madman. "Come on, my lord," he urged. "I know we always encouraged you to have more creative mind but this is too far-fetched a story to be believed. Ranna? Sweet gentle Ranna?"

The old man huffed. "Your sweet, gentle aunt has been fooling us for decades. I can only imagine how your uncle must have laughed at us. We actually bought the act she was selling us. All of Dorne did."

"It wasn't an act," a voice came from the door and Gillerd smiled and drew back against the wall at the same time at seeing the black-haired boy who now entered the room. He recognized him immediately. Errol's son. He didn't need to close his eyes to remember his silver-haired brother with the purple eyes. No one would have believed the relationship looking at Errol and Loriel standing next to each other. Just like people couldn't believe that Gillerd was Mikkel's.

The next moment, another realization came down upon him: someone of his blood was standing in his room, close to him, and he felt no compulsion to kill him. He looked at Lord Qorgyle, not quite daring to hope.

His foster father shook his head. "That's just a temporary solution, Lady Ranna said. For now, she's managed to suppress the urge in you but not extinguish it. It will come back." He paused. "But not now."

Loriel approached the bed and stood near, almost within Gillerd's reach. But not quite. He had no doubt that it was intentional. In the quick glint of those dark eyes, he recognized his own father's iron will. Why not Errol's? Because his brother had died before he had the chance to turn into a man with Mikkel's implacable will and power of presence; the world had stolen away his promise, leaving him forever in the shadow of a man who eclipsed the others through no wish of his own.

"Does your mother know you're here?" Gillerd asked, already knowing the answer. He couldn't really blame Alynna, could he?

The boy didn't even grace this with an answer. Instead, he said, "She says you're my uncle."

Gillerd nodded. "I am. You loved me very much once but I suppose you must have forgotten me."

"I can even barely remember my father," Loriel said. And he could hardly ask, out of fear to make his mother cry again or his grandfather sad and reserved for days.

Gillerd understood. "I see," he said. "I'd like to tell you about him. If you want to." He paused. "If your mother lets you near, I mean. Where is she?"

Loriel shrugged. "She's taking care of the little Prince. She's been taking care of Aegon. He has been poisoned and barely escaped with his life. My mother is helping the Princess help him."

Stunned, Gillerd looked at Lord Qorgyle who nodded. "The Prince had been inhaling something," he said. "He had been poisoned for weeks. But for the mercy of the Mother, he lived. The King had him taken out if here in the dead of night…"

Immediately, Gillerd thought of the woman who stood to benefit most from the boy's sad demise. He wouldn't think her capable of such a thing but ten years ago, he wouldn't have thought himself capable of committing the stupidity that had ruined Loreza's life – and his own, either. Lyanna Stark was passionate and desperate.

Way too desperate?

The familiar fear caught Rhaegar by the throat, growing stronger with each step up the creaking staircase. Down the hallway, two men bowed hastily and retreated. By now, everyone in the inn had somehow learned who their guests were and who they were housing. Which meant that danger had risen again. Rhaegar made a note to send cooks and handmaidens from Summerhall – people who would lose their lives if anything resembling poison reached Aegon via a route that could be weakly connected to them.

But the smile Jonothor Darry gave him as soon as he saw him made him suddenly realize just how deeply he could exhale - he had been drawing his breath in for years. When he entered the room, Elia and Arthur were playing some gameboard. Elia was opposite the door, her mouth drawn in a line, her brows puckered in concentration. Arthur was not watching her moves but her. Rhaegar wondered how he had never noticed those looks before. Even a blind man could say how Arthur felt about her from his eyes alone.

In the bed, Aegon was sleeping with a palm under his cheek. His skin was paler, smoother now. He was not so hot. And he actually murmured something without waking up and drew his hand back angrily. Rhaegar smiled. Aegon disliked being touched when he slept, for he was a light sleeper.

The King turned to Elia. "He's better," he said.

She nodded. "Much better. You did the right thing by bringing him over."

"I couldn't leave them there."

It was strange but there was no malice on either part. Their shared fear over the possibility of Aegon's death had swallowed everything. They were too weary to summon anything but relief.

"The celebrations for his birthday," Rhaegar said. "They… they must go on. He must attend, as soon as he feels better."

He hated forcing Aegon do something before he was healthy enough to but there were things that could not be canceled. To his relief, Elia nodded.

He noticed how wan and pale she was. Even now, he still caused her ills. Abruptly, he remembered their wedding day, all those years ago, and how he had vowed to himself that he'd never make her unhappy.

"You will attend, won't you? That's what he wants."

She did not hesitate. "I will."

"You're a good mother, Elia."

Rhaegar's voice was soft. He tried to imagine how he would have reacted in such circumstances. Would have he swallowed his pride and gone to festivities where he would have been placed second to someone else?

"Has your father discovered what the exact poison was?" Rhaegar asked and she shook her head.

He stayed for some time more, staring at Aegon, as Elia and Arthur returned to their game. He felt acutely that he was an intruder, that no one was here for him. The two of them had managed to build a life they were ready to stretch to accommodate Aegon – but not him. And could he really expect such a thing? They had nothing more to say to each other, so after a while he rose and left.

To his surprise, Lyanna was waiting for him in his solar.

"I want to talk to you," she said as soon as he entered and rose from her chair, proud as always, her back straight, her face taut with irritation. Once, her anger had fascinated him; now, it only wore him down and filled him with resentment: how  _dared_  she be angry when she was most likely the one who had…

"What for?" he asked tiredly. "Is it so important that it cannot wait for a while? I need some rest."

"It cannot wait. What's going on, Rhaegar?"

He took a seat and rubbed his forehead. "What are you talking about?"

"You know it. The way you talked to me. The way you looked at me. What are you accusing me of? Come on, Your Grace! Say it! I know you're brave enough…" She smiled bitterly. "Say it, Rhaegar!"

Even now, she didn't ask about Aegon. She truly didn't care if the boy would live or die – or perhaps she cared too much. Rhaegar's resolve hardened.

"Your savage gods have not heard your prayers, my lady. My son will live, despite the poison found in the logs in his fire. And whoever had the thought to end his life will regret it bitterly."

Lyanna didn't even pretend to be shocked or hurt by an accusation that an innocent could not have possibly expected. "You mean me?" she challenged boldly. "Is that why you removed him from the castle? Is that why you left him in an inn than have him close to me?"

Rhaegar removed his gloved wearily. "My son was on the brink of death, Lyanna. I am really not possessed of the mood to listen to you acting as if you were the child who's suffered. You're a woman grown and queen. Try to act like one. With the current state of affairs, you should be helping my mother keeping a façade of serenity over everything."

"Lying, you mean," she snapped. She read him like an open book. Just like she had known Aegon was out of danger the moment Rhaegar has walked through that door, she now knew what he truly meant. He wanted her to be the queen Elia had been, would have been under those circumstances. He should have indeed stayed at Elia's side and spared all of them this quagmire of madness, treachery, betrayals, and love that no longer was.

"Take it as you want," Rhaegar said coldly. "I know you enough to realize that you won't be any help to my mother or anything that requires skills other than riding and yelling at people. But do try and not impede. On either me or her. Because I'm warning you, Lyanna, if we find proof that you were behind the attempt, being my wife and queen won't save you."

Her breath caught. He really meant it. All those months in the tower, the vows he had made her, the losses she had suffered because of their love, her almost dying to give him a babe – none of it would matter. His children with Elia meant more to him that she could ever hope to mean. It didn't pain her, not the very fact, but the lie, the huge mistake of ever believing him enough to throw her lot in with him – that was almost too much to bear. He believed such a monstrosity about her and the fact that she had given him all she had would not change a thing. He'd judge her as he would have his lowliest subject.

"The celebrations are to keep going on," Rhaegar said. "Elia will attend some of them. And you won't expect or demand a curtsey from her. She's Aegon's mother, she almost died bringing him into the world and she'll receive only honours. From everyone."

Would he go as far as to demand that  _Lyanna_  made the curtsey? Shaking her head, the young woman realized with despair that she, Elia, Rhaegar, and their children will never be free of the tangled web she and Rhaegar had spun so carelessly.

 

 


	19. Storms and Wolves

 "Do you think the red priests have already arrived?" Arel asked when, the next day, they had gathered in his room. With Aegon requiring a whole one, the rest of them were forced into coexisting in closer proximity that they had enjoyed once in the Water Gardens. They did the best they could, though: Alynna was sorting through some seashells and peculiar pebbles Tyene had brought from the seashore, Elia was mending some piece of cloth, and Arthur and Arel were polishing their blades near the window. At the far side, Ranna was engrossed in one of the books she had taken from among Melisandre of Asshai's things, frowning at the text.

"I suppose they have," Elia said, rising to check on Aegon. "But if so, they'll have to wait for my return before they could do anything in Dorne."

 _Unfortunately, so will Lanore_ , Arthur thought. But he supposed that between Mikkel, who could talk people into anything and Oberyn, who could coerce them into the same, there was no great reason for worry. Anyway, Lanore wouldn't want Elia to return before Aegon was truly better.

Elia crossed to the next door and smiled at the golden-haired knight standing right inside. "Perhaps you'd like to keep my husband and goodbrother company as I am here?" she asked. "It's really crowded in here."

Two Kingsguard and Elia were indeed one person too much for a sickroom. Still, Jaime Lannister hesitated. "Is your lady aunt there?" he asked and Elia flashed him a grin. He had gotten her intention just right. Although he didn't want to admit it, he was still weak from his ordeal – but Ranna's potions scared him greater than the pains.

"She is," Elia confirmed. "And you'll go to her and do what she says. You were given for me to order around, right, Ser Jaime?" she added energetically when he started to protest. "Or perhaps it wasn't so?"

In the look those green eyes gave her, there was some genuine resentment. She waved him off, straining to hear the sounds from the other room. She could swear that Ser Jonothor was doing the same. Jaime's exchanges with Ranna were a source of frequent amusement for the rest of them. Last time, he had refused to drink the tea she insisted to pour into him. In reply, she had risen on tiptoes to tap him on the head and pronounce, "It still hasn't ripened."

The walls were too thick, though, so whatever had transpired between the two of them was locked in there. Elia approached the bed and started moisturing Aegon's lips with a wet cloth. They still didn't dare give him anything to eat or drink and she got upset at seeing how thin his arms and legs were becoming. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes lost their shine. But for all of this, he was getting better. He even managed to tell her some things about his life in the castle, about his life with Rhaella and Daenerys, about his friends who had arrived here for his nameday. Once again, Elia's anger flared. How dared Rhaegar deprive their son of his home to send him to this lonely grim place?

Only when Aegon went to sleep and she rose from her chair did she realize that she hadn't been this tired since the first night she had had the twins taken out of her bedchamber so she could catch some sleep and be prepared for the council the next day. She had spent that night awake, trying to hear any sound of crying.

In the other room, Alynna was holding a cup of dark, still steaming liquid in the hope that it would help against the constant chill at Dragonstone. Ranna was still reading her book and the three men were having a conversation. Elia smiled at seeing that Jaime Lannister had chosen a seat as far away from Ranna as possible.

"Has he gone to sleep?" Arthur asked unnecessarily.

Elia nodded wearily. He hesitated.

"There is a message for you," he finally said.

"From Oberyn?" she asked sharply.

Arthur shook his head. "No," he said.

Elia went to the table, saw the three-headed dragon on the wax and the handwriting that was neither Rhaegar or Rhaella's and drew back, surprised.

Everyone's eyes were on her and she felt their tension. "Why didn't you just open it and see what it is about?" she asked.

Arthur looked taken aback. "Open your personal correspondence?"

"That's right," Elia confirmed. "My personal correspondence."

Arthur was still not getting it and she sighed, exasperated.

"I told him," Alynna piped in. "I told him that you wouldn't mind."

"I don't," Elia agreed. "It isn't something about Dorne, Arthur. It's just a private letter addressed to me. You can always read those."

The surprise was back in full force but the smile following it made her heart soar. At this moment, she would give up everything to always have him smile at her like this.

* * *

 

Every knock at the door made Gillerd anxious, desperately longing that it would be someone of his family who'd show up – and desperately afraid of it. He knew that some of them had come as he slept and he had glimpsed some of them in the fever that persisted every night and he vaguely remembered actually holding a conversation with Naeryn, her shadow who sounded much like a Northerner – a Northerner? – glowering at her side. But he didn't remember what they had talked about. Most of the time, he slept and when he didn't, his mind was in something like haze that wouldn't let him think straight or for long. He didn't care. But when there was a knock at the door, he didn't know if he was more scared than relieved, or quite the opposite.

"Come in," he said and blinked when he saw who his visitor was. "Are you mad?" he demanded.

He saw Lyanna Stark's smile before she turned to close the door against the draft. Then, she turned to face him and waved at him not to rise from his chair.

"Go to the fireplace," Gillerd invited, knowing just how harrowing the trip through the cold drafty halls was.

"I am not cold," she said. "Or rather, I love cold. I am coming from the sea wall."

Cold, indeed, agreed with her. Her face was flushed, her nose bright red and the hands lying against her sides were quite white with chill, yet for the first time Gillerd realized that she was a true beauty. He couldn't believe that he had once thought her quite plain.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Or the sea wall, for that matter. Unaccompanied?"

She shrugged. "Are you scared?" she asked.

"No," he said. "But you can have problems. Where are your ladies?"

"They didn't want to brave the wind, so I took pity of them and sent them to their chambers. No doubt they're trying to get warm under all the clothes they own here."

Her vivid description almost made him laugh because that was what he wanted to do at night when he was shivering with fever. He never did because the effort to rise was too much for his will. "Aren't you supposed to always be followed by a Kingsguard, at least?"

She shook her head. "Not always. It depends on the King's will. Sometimes, I am given one. Most of the time, I prefer not being trailed."

Not for the first time, he found himself pitying her. "I am pleased that you came," he said. "I wanted to thank you. For Naeryn. And Aegon."

Hearing the child's name, she looked down. For a moment, Gillerd thought she would start protesting her innocence. Instead, she lifted her chin, a movement that seemed to cost her a great effort, and said, "I came to give this back to you."

The medallion caught the firelight, and Gillerd's breathing caught. "It's been with you all the time?" he gasped. "I thought I had lost it somewhere in the mountain that night…"

Lyanna left the medallion on the table next to him. He drew a finger across the woman's face. Lyanna was watching him intently. "Is this your wife?" she asked.

"My first wife," he said. "I've got a second one waiting for me in Essos. Probably wondering if I had gone away on a whim."

After all, he had proved that he could not be trusted not to do something rash and stupid, hadn't he?

Her head went back as if he had slapped her, yet some instinct told her to focus solely on the first wife, the one in the medallion. "She's beautiful."

"She was." His face softened. "More beautiful than she's depicted here. When we went somewhere together, she would turn the heads of every crowd. Men and women both envied me for her."

She gave a shocked gasp and Gillerd firmly closed the door of memory before the recollection of his stupidity to think that Ellaria Sand had been interested in Loreza this way. She might have been, given her curiosity about beautiful golden-haired women but in this case, Loreza had been a friend. Oberyn had been the fish she had thrown the bait at. Instead, he thought of Saryntha in Essos, with her preference of her own sex and the problems she would have run into after his disappearance, and again felt guilt and shame.

Lyanna was now next to the window, staring out into the falling dusk. "What happened?" she asked in a low voice. "Elia told me that you were indeed a murderer."

He wasn't surprised. He wasn't even hurt. "Were you hoping that I was not?" he asked instead with faint curiosity.

She turned back and stared at him. "Why?" she demanded.

"He raped my wife," Gillerd replied simply, staring at the medallion again. "While she was unconscious. And months later, bragged about it. I called him out and he refused to fight me, so I did what I did."

"Good," she said and he laughed harshly, surprised.

"Do you know you're the first person to ever tell me this? Not that I believe so. I ruined my life, and hers as well. She took the knife to herself the night I was sent away." He paused. "She had recently delivered a dead baby. The rapist's, not mine."

She looked ready to be sick. "And they still sent you away?" she asked in disbelief and then checked herself. "No, don't tell me. Politics."

"Indeed."

For a moment, they were both silent.

"People look at me as if I'm a monster," she finally said. "Because of politics. They think I did… something to Aegon."

It looked like she wasn't able to spell out what this something was. Gillerd snorted. "Are you surprised? You don't really have the best record where the boy is concerned. I'm sure everyone knew how pleased you were when he was sent here."

His words cut and she drew back from them. But there was no blaming in his voice. He was just making a statement. Which was more soothing than the way people didn't mention things around her. Just about her. Whenever she passed. Right before she entered or after she left.

"Rhaegar was disgusting," she said without preamble.

"Why am I not surprised?" Gillerd murmured. A man capable of treating a wife like the King had treated Elia, could be expected to treat another one pretty much the same.

In the silence, he could hear her brain working on gathering her thoughts. "I guess I should have expected it," she finally said. "As you said, I am not particularly fond of Aegon's company and I'm afraid it showed."

Her candour made Gillerd wonder what would have happened if she had tried to pretend. He got the feeling that she'd be terrible at it. Guilt made an abysmal companion and pretending would have just made it worse.

"Do you think I did it?" she asked abruptly.

"I can make the distinction between taking off with someone, even under your circumstances," he said, "and planning the murder of a child."

She laughed harshly. "You seem to be the only one. That cousin of yours, the disfigured one, makes it a point of showing his distrust even at the high table…"

"Does he, now?"

Gillerd's voice was very soft, so soft that Lyanna should have caught the threat. But engulfed by her own pain, she missed it. "He refuses to take even a mouthful of food, barely ever drinks. He just sits at the high table, his face even more of a mask, and glares disapprovingly as if he thinks there is a poison in his food…"

"His face isn't a worse mask than yours, I'm sure," Gillerd cut in and for the first time since she knew him he didn't even try to hide that he was livid. He suddenly rose and glared at her worse than the cousin in question. "At least he has a legitimate reason, rather than being a spoiled little girl who snivels and stomps her feet because she doesn't like the consequences of her mistakes and having to live with them."

His cruel words cut the air between them. He started pacing the room, refusing to look at her, lest he said something even more offensive; horrified, Lyanna realized how her hasty words had sounded. She had never meant them to hint that Elvar was unpleasant to her because of the state of his face.

"Do you really think this highly of yourself?" Gillerd demanded, finally coming to a stop before her. "Won't you give people the right to have their own tragedies, unrelated to your story and the pitiful consequences if it?"

"You dare say it has nothing to do with me?" she shot back. "Your entire family makes it clear how much they despise me…"

"That's right, nothing to do with you," he confirmed, paused and said straight to her face, "Elvar never eats when there are people present. He rarely drinks as well. It has nothing to do with your queenly presence or the fact that he holds your love story beneath contempt. It's just that his mask of a face means he cannot control his facial muscles satisfactory. You dislike the fact that he doesn’t eat? I can assure you that the sight of him eating is going to hurt your delicate sensitivities even more.”

Lyanna gaped, the pieces rearranging themselves into an entirely different conclusion. She had never given facial injuries a thought beyond mere looks, had never realized that there might be other, harsher problems. "I'm sorry," she said simply and to her surprise, he nodded curtly that he accepted her apology.

"How sweet," a voice tight with sarcasm spoke from the door; with a heavy foreboding, they both turned. Alric made a brief, ironic bow to the Queen. Gillerd, he didn't even look at. The topic of Elvar's disfigurement was always a charged one that ended up with a strained relationship between Alric, at the one hand, and Gillerd, Oberyn, Alor, at the other. "The lady is sorry. As usual, a Stark regret sounding so sincere but meaning nothing."

Lyanna drew in a deep breath. "What do you mean, my lord?" she demanded. Behind Alric, Naeryn was shaking her head and Roderic was looking away, his own scars exposed. She wondered if he had troubles with normal bodily functions and guilt and shame crashed upon her.

Alric didn't deign this with an answer. "I've heard you wanted to send your son and nephew to visit Aegon?" he asked.

"Indeed I do not!"

He raised an eyebrow. "They're the ones asking about him all the time," Lyanna explained. "They've heard that he's very ill and they want to see him. I didn't really expect Elia to agree since you all seem to judge me guilty."

Alric shrugged, not looking surprised that Elia had, in fact, agreed. "Oh I don't," he assured her. "Actively trying to kill someone isn't the Stark way. You just let them die on their own. That was your grandmother's way. Or deprive them of chances to protect themselves. That was what your father did to my sister. "

"It wasn't so!" Roderic suddenly spoke out. "My lord, it was different. I know she was your sister but she was entirely different to you. She…"

"I know how Myara was," Alric said calmly. "Do you think what happened to her was just and right, a fitting punishment for being headstrong?"

Roderic looked away, his features strained.

Alric promptly stopped noticing him. Instead, he stared at Lyanna anew, with some strange emotion written on his face. "Still, you might be Marna Stark's granddaughter," he said. From his lips, the name sounded like a curse. "But you're the Wandering Wolf's granddaughter as well, Lady Lyarra's daughter. I tend to think that you have nothing to do with what happened to Aegon, under any form. Or perhaps I am just getting naïve in my dotage."

That was so unexpected that Lyanna bit back her angry retort. The only clear memory of her mother was Lyarra smiling and telling her that she'd now get a sister, after three brothers. Lyanna had believed her, believed that life would be even better – until her mother died having her sister. Or brother. No one could tell. "You knew my mother? And my grandfather?"

Alric nodded and took a chair. "His conflicts with the family and his wanderings led him to Essos at the same time I was there. Later, they led him to Dorne. He spent a lot of time there, he served under me. At his lady wife's death, Lady Lyarra chose against going to live with her sister and goodbrother and came to him. She was well liked at our court, and with good reason. A good heart still counts for something in this world, fortunately."

Lyanna's first instinct was to deny that there had been conflicts within the ranks of her family, ever, but then she remembered that she wouldn't know. Maester Walys hadn't thought to include her in his history lessons and the few times she had asked her father, he had merely said that they couldn't go through some eight thousand years of history without some regrettable things happening. He had always looked sad, so she had abandoned the issue. And Old Nan's tales of her long years at Winterfell had been so mixed with giants and Others that Lyanna couldn't tease out anything of them, not even now.

"An adventurer, this one," Alric went on, his eyes softening at the memory. "I've never seen a more amusing girl. Once, she had it in her head that she wanted to see Essos, so she hid on my brother's ship when he sailed…"

All of a sudden, it was over. He shook himself physically off the memory as a dog would shake itself off water and gave Lyanna a hard look.

"Perhaps I am being stupid," he said. "But I believe you have nothing to do with the attempt on Aegon's life. Actually, I think it was aimed at you just as much as it was at us. But I really cannot convince everyone, even my own family." He paused. "We'll have the children closely watched while they're there, of course, " he said. "So just in case I'm wrong… don't try anything this way. We'll know."

Astounded, Lyanna realized that he sounded more like someone who was giving a child a well-recited warning without much heat in it. But since it was better than accusations in such a vile deed, she let it pass.

"I'll go now," she said, carefully avoiding looking at Gillerd, and headed for the door. She had never mastered the art of sweeping across a room and she found it silly anyway, so she didn't even try. "My lord?" she suddenly asked when she was at the door.

"Yes?" he asked tiredly. She realized that he had yet to look at his nephew.

"My grandmother. Why did you say she let someone… your sister… die? Why would she want to cause harm to a stranger?"

"Myara wasn't a stranger to her," Alric replied. "She was her goodaughter."

* * *

 

Elia felt a deep rush of relief when in the morning, the two children arrived with three Kingsguard only. Knowing how impulsive Lyanna was, a part of her had expected to see her coming over and demanding to know if Elia thought she was the one to blame. And while she didn't really think so, she couldn't help but remember this one time when she had misinterpreted the other woman, a girl then, so grossly, at Harrenhal… What if Lyanna was just a better liar than Elia gave her credit for? She was certainly reasonable enough to send the boys early on, before everyone in the castle awoke. Perhaps she was able to plan such a thing in cold blood?

No. Lyanna had helped them reach the volcano before it was too late.

Too late? Aegon had not been supposed to be in any physical danger. Was it possible that Lyanna was afraid a dragon would be awoken and give Aegon a distinct advantage over her Jon? Elia shook her head and refused to think about that. It was no good, one way or another.

A smile came to her lips when she saw Arel and Alynna coming back to the inn. She was holding his hand and chattering away. A smile lit his face whenever he looked at her. Elia had no doubt that they had spent the night together in one of the caves, safe and warm under a cloak. She was so happy for their renewed happiness… and with Aegon being clearly better, for the first time in a very long time she felt a stirring of longing.

"Soon," Arthur murmured, noticing the look in her eyes. "We'll be together soon."

She leaned against him, holding his hand over her shoulder blade in a gesture that was becoming increasingly familiar to both of them.

Behind them, in the other room, excited shouts erupted. Elia peeked in and smiled seeing Aegon holding onto a small spear the other two had brought him. Although he still couldn't speak much through his dry lips, he seemed to enjoy their company and Elia gave her aunt an imploring look, correctly anticipating that Ranna would issue an order for him to be left to rest soon.

"By the Warrior, what…" Arthur muttered, staring out the window. Elia squinted but only saw the usual sights of sea and ships. So many had arrived carrying important guests for Aegon's nameday that she had stopped paying them any attention.

One of them turned out to merit such, though. Even Ranna forgot about ordering the boys out for a second time after they had pretended not to hear it when Ivorr Sand, Elia's bastard brother, strode into the room behind Arthur. As far as they knew, he had never had any reasons to stop at Dragonstone and by the way he held himself, stiff and grim, Elia realized that his withered arm, the result of a harsh birth, had started bothering him worse than ever before, to the extent of him calling a stop because he couldn't bear the sea motion any longer. Her heart sank. Was that the fate that her baby would face one day? Ever increasing pain?

Ivorr would never admit it, of course. He always pretended that there was no pain, no suffering about him. And when Elia heard of the cargo he carried, she realized that his stopping her might have been a real draw of luck.

"Direwolves?" Arthur asked incredulously. "Try again. You're telling me that you have direwolves on board?"

"From the Bay of Seals," Ivorr confirmed. "Straight on the snowy coast. A pair of newborn ones. Dying. And with no mother around."

"So you decided to play mother?" Alynna asked, eyes wide, and laughed. "As if they were babes?"

Her cousin glared at her. "Just until they got warm and fed," he snapped. "A few hours, at most. I didn't count on the damned storm that tore us from the shore and held for eleven damned days. At its fading, we ended up somewhere between the Paps and the Fingers. The only way to get rid of them was to throw them over the board and let me tell you, that's what my men desire now that they're bigger. The mutterings have been growing and unfortunately, my stance with them is not what it used to be."

Of course it wasn't. Naturally! Elia knew some of the trials Ivorr had gone through to advance through the ranks, to captain a ship of his own. The diminishing of his physical abilities was tied to the diminishing of his position with his men – and it was not even unfair. She closed her eyes and willed the tears away.

"Unfortunately, the beasts are growing. Soon, they'll be too big for the cabin – and I cannot really release them on the unsuspecting people unlucky enough to cross their way. So I guess the sea it is," Ivorr ended up in a voice showing that he was fighting his more merciful wishes.

Elia sighed and opened her eyes. It looked like she'd have to contact Lyanna, after all. She could not leave babes die. Even direwolf babes. Lyanna ought to know what to do with them. The Seven knew that despite everything, she was a Stark first and foremost, much to Rhaegar's dislike.

 

 


	20. The Pattern

Lyanna left the castle when the first shades of twilight started turning the mists into the sinister indigo shade of a mythical beast's breath. That was the time everyone was either preparing the hall for supper, or preparing the meals, or themselves for the feast. Finally, the steward had realized that he could expect no help of her where lodgings were concerned – and it had taken longer than expected, with Rhaella being distracted by Aegon's illness. It hadn't taken long for Lyanna to decide that Elia's wish to talk to her was a great excuse to miss out on the feast. After all, as she had been told, Rhaegar had announced that Elia should be obeyed over everyone else, including Lyanna. It was strange but she didn't even feel hurt. After his distrust, his willingness to believe that she could order the murder of a child he could not deal her any further injuries.

The Kingsguard was still with Rhaegar and Rhaella – and Aegon, of course. Lyanna wouldn't be surprised if Elia received one of them to guard her again as well. That didn't hurt either. She had never liked being trailed after all the time anyway. She had never been in Winterfell. Sworn shields were a Southern thing.

The cold outside invigorated her. She even took her hood off to better feel the biting wind but a little later the fear that she might be recognized made her pull it back reluctantly.

She was already in the inn when it occurred to her that in all the years of her acquaintance with Elia, that would be the first time they would meet face to face, except at ceremonial occasiona when they had done their best to avoid each other and  that night a few days ago, at Aegon's bedside. All the years when they had lived under one roof…

All of a sudden, she felt anxious. Had Elia asked her to come so she could throw an accusation in her face? No, her father had said that they didn't believe in Lyanna's guilt. Lyanna was no longer part of Elia's son's life. What, then, would the two of them have to talk about?

The gathering inside did nothing to soothe her. All faces, from the most olive ones to those as pale as a morning mist, were those of Elia's kin and allies. Lyanna was alone here and although she didn't feel threatened, she definitely felt at disadvantage.  _I don't belong here_ , she thought and she didn't know if she meant this room full of Dornishmen, this island of dragons, or this South where a daughter of the North could never feel at ease.

Elia noticed her discomfort and showed her to follow to the other room where Aegon was sleeping. With great relief, Lyanna saw that the boy didn't look all this ill. Still, she didn't go near, lest Elia thought something.

"So?" she asked without looking at the cup of tea the other woman poured. Would Elia ever stop playing the perfect hostess?

"My brother Ivorr Sand arrived today," Elia said. "He's been sailing north and he's returned with two little direwolves. Babes, in fact. And he cannot keep them aboard any longer. Do you have any idea what we should do with them? Is there a way to tame them?"

Lyanna's first impulse was to huff with contempt. Taming direwolves? Laughable! Then, the full meaning of Elia's words dawned upon her and she shook her head. "It must be a mistake. Direwolves don't go south enough for people to catch them – and they don't wander at the seashore. Your brother is wrong. What he saw were just wolf cubs. Perhaps bigger than usual but wolf-cubs anyway."

Elia looked at her, indignant. "Ivorr can tell the difference between big wolves and monsters," she said icily.

Lyanna glared back." Direwolves are not monsters," she snapped. "They are…"

But she couldn't say what they were. She had never seen one. "Are they really aboard a ship?" she asked. Even if those were just common wolf-cubs, the thought of killing them didn't appeal to her – and she got the feeling that the people at Dragonstone wouldn't just let them roam around. And what if they  _were_  direwolves? It would be sacrilege to sit around and let them be killed. That would be spitting in the face of all her ancestors.

"Perhaps you'd better discuss it with Ivorr," Elia said and Lyanna nodded. She had no intention of confessing that even if the cubs were direwolves – which they couldn't be – she had no idea what to do with them. The Kings of the North had certainly never tamed them. Direwolves were no pets!

Ivorr Sand appeared and just the looks of him made Lyanna feel uncomfortable. His name meant "prince" in the Old Tongue but he resembled Lyanna's idea of the Others more than anything else, with this skin of his, smooth and so unnaturally pale, so eerily suiting his fair hair and eyes of silver or steel.  _That must have been his father's idea of a jest_ , Lyanna thought.  _Or challenge._  She had heard that in her lands, the First Men had left babes born with deformities like his, ones that would keep them from holding swords or hoes, in the snow to die, saving the families a mouth to feed and the children a lifetime of pain and privations. All of a sudden, her longing for this world of cold practicality and cruel compassion born out of despair almost robbed her of breath.

Ivorr silently waited and when Elia glanced at her with barely hidden disapprovement, she blushed, realizing that she was staring at Ivorr's hand, the haphazardly grown fingers of mismatching length and width, the grotesquely misshapen palm. Lyanna immediately looked away and thought to herself that as harsh as it was, at first meeting people could not help but stare. He really should have used a glove. Ashamed of these thoughts, she offered, "Perhaps we should go and see those direwolves?"

She wouldn't add another insult by expressing her doubts in his judgment.

"Are you coming, Elia?" Ivorr asked and Elia laughed a little.

"What would I do with wolves?" she asked. "Or direwolves?"

"Shriek in fear?" he suggested and she smiled.

 _Howl, howl, that's a wolf, big and bad, howl, howl… She's shrieking in fear!_  How old had Lyanna been when Brandon had tried to scare her with this ridiculous song that had sounded rather scary in the abandoned watchtower far away in the godswood? At this moment, Lyanna envied Elia like she hadn't even at Harrenhall when she had been dreaming about Rhaegar, Elia's Rhaegar.

At the end, Elia didn't come. She sent Arthur, though, and Lyanna fell into the familiar pattern of walking with him behind her, as he had used to. Only, this time his silence was not one of cold and pained distance. Happiness had carried away a good deal of his former disapproval.

"What's her name?" Lyanna asked when in the darkness, the white ship slowly swam out the mist.

" _Pride_ ," Ivorr replied and Lyanna tugged her hood lower. The name suited the vessel, she decided and then forgot all about the ships the moment he opened the door of a cabin and the lantern Arthur held up revealed the small creatures inside. Or rather, the not so small creatures inside. Lyanna's blood rushed to her head, then sang in her veins. She rather felt than saw it, home coming back to her – living, breathing parts of the North snarling at her, glaring at her with glowing eyes, their fur rising.

"Direwolves," she murmured, awe in her voice. Now that she focused on seeing them, the differences were obvious – longer legs than common wolves, bigger heads and sharper muzzles. She made a step inside and white teeth flashed immediately, ripping the lower part of her cloak and brushing her calf. Lyanna laughed in delight at the rough caress – or was that an attack? She didn't know. She didn't care either.

Unlike her, Ivorr was clearly uncomfortable with the playful nipping and low whining which, to the cubs, were signs of love. "Step away, you mongrel," he murmured, reaching for the bucket of roasted meat that had been prepared. "I am not your bloody mother," he added, feeding them chunks.

 _Are you sure_ , Lyanna thought and looked away, lest he saw the laughter in her eyes. All the tales she had heard of wolves told her that he had made himself that – he was bigger than the pups, he had presumably fed them milk, he had most likely carried them into the ship in his own arms… What was he if not their mother, kind of? It wasn't as if they had another one to compare him to.

The Dornishman looked at her. "So what? Do you have any idea what I should do with them?"

"Yes," Lyanna replied. "I'm taking them," she added and wondered how she was going to explain this to Rhaegar – explain it in a way that wouldn't end in wolf furs gracing the walls of the great hall. Direwolves were dangerous, but they were hers. They were Stark's. Hardly something to inspire fondness in Rhaegar right now, no matter how passionately he had loved her wolf side once.

* * *

 

"So she just took them to the stables where dragons were once kept?" Elia asked, stunned. "Blessed be the Seven, she has no sense."

"She indeed took them there," Ivorr confirmed. "My men will be very grateful to her, I daresay."

Arthur wasn't this grateful. The cubs had been just as enthused to be taken out of their familiar surroundings as dragons had been to be chained two hundred years ago, he supposed. He had the scratches to prove it. They weren't shallow scratches either and Elia frowned as she bathed and bandaged them.

"Is it this bad?" Ivorr asked, coming close to see. It was his turn to frown. "You should have told me. I would have carried one of the little beasts."

Arthur shrugged to show that it hadn't been a big deal.

"I am happy that you came back, Ivorr," Elia said quickly. "Santagar is talking of retiring and I am in need of a new head of our fleet."

She was watching him carefully and spotted the light and joy in his eyes. That had been his greatest desire, what their uncle Carral had prepared him for years. But then, the light swiftly disappeared. It might not have been there at all – it might have been just a trick of the torches that now splashed forms of pain across his face.

"I thank you for this," he said, his voice calm. "But it won't be fair of me to accept when in two years, three at most, I'll be entirely useless. Good for nothing, least of all heading the fleet."

 _It's good that Father isn't here_ , Elia thought and swore that she'd never treat her babe the way Alric had treated Ivorr, promising the worst possible consequences if the boy didn't try hard enough to overcome his limitations. But he hadn't done that expecting that one day, Ivorr's problems would intensify and he might actually lose the progress Alric had forced into him so cruelly – but not the feeling of being useless that had been instilled in him.  _Father thought he was doing right by him. He thought he was right!_  The very thought terrified Elia. What would she do to her own son believing that she was right? The memory of Ivorr’s wife suddenly came to her mind. She hadn't thought about her in many months. But now she heard her once again asking Ivorr to hide his deformed hand in a glove. She remembered his face, the devastation that his child’s mother was ashamed of him. Was this the fate awaiting Carral? And then, with shame, she realized that she almost never thought about Myriah's future. All her fears and hopes were focused on Carral. Worse yet, by the way Arthur looked at her, she knew that he could say and liked it not.

* * *

 

Since Melisandre of Asshai's arrest, almost no one wished to enter her chambers. No, not  _almost_. The only ones who did were the serving maids whom Rhaella personally sent to do some cleaning. They were always eager to be done and out, although there was no one to intimidate them there – all of Melisandre's companions had been put in the dungeons as well for interrogation and yet Naeryn shivered when she entered the room she had once met the priestess. Now that she knew all she did, the figure that looked at her now scared her almost as much as Melisandre had.

Ranna smiled a little wistfully. "I am still the same person I was a year ago, my dear child. This hasn't changed."

"But it has," Naeryn whispered. "It has…"

That single night at the volcano had changed and dried her years before her time. It had not touched her beauty but it had changed something within her – her confidence, her certainty that she knew who she was and what part in the world she had to play. Ranna helped her to the couch, discreetly touching her wrist just in the spot where life beat its rhythm. Too slow.

Naeryn recoiled, having grasped her aunt's true purpose; without pretending now, Ranna touched the young woman's heart and her forehead, trying to gauge just how much life force had been drawn from her there, in the mountain. Too much. Now, she regretted that she had asked Naeryn for this meeting but she couldn't cancel it.

"Let's have some wine," she said and poured. Dornish red, red like the blood of life, red like the rising sun and its night incarnation.

"Why?" Naeryn asked after she drank. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Ranna sighed. "Do you think I could? Or that your uncle could?  _By the way, Mother, I wed a woman who was born in the time of King Aegon the Third, just so you know. No trouble at all!_  Your grandmother would have been very reassured that her son would have a long and happy life with me, I am sure."

Naeryn gave a laugh of surprise. Her aunt had a point. "But later?" she asked.

"Later, I wanted to forget. I couldn't live in Dorne if I kept returning to my past. I was putting all my efforts into becoming Ranna. I forced myself not think of what had been – at least, not very often. Then, the children were born and it truly didn't matter anymore. I didn't want it to matter. For years, I lived in fear that one day, someone would come back from Essos and recognize me. You know that we aren't well loved in Westeros."

Naeryn's eyes went cold. She left the goblet and went to warm her hands at the fire.

"What?" Ranna asked when her niece returned.

" _We_?" the young woman repeated. "Who are  _you_?"

Ranna's eyes went wide. She laughed curtly and unpleasantly, mocking the world, Naeryn and herself. "It's going back, isn't it? After thirty years, all it took was one night and one almost sacrifice, and I'm almost back where I started and this time, there's no Carral to pull me out of it. If I can be pulled out at all, that's it." She paused. "It has started. You know that, don't you?"

Naeryn was staring unblinkingly at her goblet. "The signs are there," she said. "And I've been having dreams. You as well?"

Ranna shook her head. "Not that I remember. But after your uncle died, they came to plague me both in my sleep and waking hours."

Abruptly, Naeryn wondered if Carral's death had plunged Ranna back into the sleepless life she must have had before him, the sleepless life she knew was Melisandre's.

"I knew something was happening even before Roderic's letter arrived," Ranna said. "I should have done something. I should have never agreed that we send you here alone in the first place. But I didn't want to look at the past I had had such trouble leaving behind. I wanted to believe that you could deal with the situation on your own. And you almost paid for my selfishness with your life. I am sorry, Naeryn. So very sorry."

"It isn’t your fault," Naeryn sighed.

Ranna shook her head. "The most competent person present is the one who bears the brunt of responsibility," she said. "I had forgotten that."

 _Out of fear_ , she added in her head but didn't said loudly. How would it sound if she confessed that despite not regretting her choice, never, her desire for this world of prophetical fires, burning her own flesh, performing rituals, seeking omens and risking her sanity in the process was almost as strong as her love for Carral, almost as great as her love for her children, greater than almost anything else in the world?

This calm claim of authority made Naeryn narrow her eyes. "Now what?" she asked.

"Now we talk to Melisandre and warn her off."

Naeryn laughed. "As if she'd listen…" She paused. "Are we telling her everything?"

Ranna smiled. "Now, why would we do this? Besides, there are some things that one only learn when she comes to certain points in her life. If someone had told me that R'hllor would abandon me for the time I carried my children, I wouldn't have believed them."

Naeryn looked surprised by this new information. Ranna could almost see her weighing it in her head and deciding that it had no bearing to her own situation. That saddened her.

"I'd like to make sure that I know what's going on," Naeryn finally said.

"My name used to be Raniel of Volantis," Ranna said simply and the young woman sat straight.

"Raniel the…" she started and faltered.

"Raniel the Traitor, yes," Ranna confirmed. "I really betrayed R'hllor and the tenets of our faith – at least Benerro thinks so, so of course Essos does." She paused. "To be fair, I did steal a few bags of old parchments and forbidden books."

Naeryn understood. "Your guarantee that the leading Red Temples would not try to find and punish you?"

Ranna reached for a date in the bowl between them but somehow, she knew it would taste of ash.

"There was this," she admitted. "But not only. Those were only books saved from repeated onsets of purges. The things that were written there… they did not match the official versions of our teachings. In too many aspects."

Naeryn held her breath. "The prophecies."

"I don't believe that there is a single person who was meant to make the prophecies come alive," Ranna finally said. Just speaking the words made her cold. "History repeats itself, always, and then changes. And we can understand neither because we can never truly see the gift of being creative that R'hllor gave us. This – and the chance to choose. Things happen to us but at one point, we come to a point, a crossroad where we must make a choice. Take a road. And in doing so, define the world, as it would be."

Naeryn swallowed, watching the flames in the fireplace rising along with the rising of Ranna's passion. "All of us?"

"Most of us, in one way or another. We make good choices, we make bad choices and sometimes, we die to change the consequences of either. I believe the hero of our prophecy is closely related to the Blood Betrayal old scrolls speak of."

Naeryn scowled. "I dislike the word  _believe_ ," she said darkly. "It almost got me killed not this long ago."

Ranna didn't think twice. "Very well, then use the world  _convinced_ ," she agreed. "I am convinced that the return of Azor Ahai is something we must not force forward because we might not like the result. He might return but not as Azor Ahai but his other self. The Bloodstone Emperor."

Naeryn wasn't taken aback. She had thought about it long and hard, almost every time she had a moment to spare. She didn't like it and she sincerely hoped that Ranna was wrong – but she suspected that she wasn't. Even a prophecy could be killed. Even a prophecy could be changed with a thing as simple as an unshod hoof.

"You think that Nissa Nissa was the Amethyst Empress?" she asked, holding her breath anyway.

"And the Bloodstone Emperor's sister wife," Ranna confirmed. "Or perhaps she was the redemption he offered the world after he  _caused_  the Long Night. Either way, I think she was not willing to lay her life down for him and what he believed. And he took it anyway. Perhaps he believed it was the right thing to do. I do not know."

 _One of the hardest things a ruler needs to do is take other people's lives for what he or she believes is the right cause,_  Arianne Martell had said often.  _And it's never right._  Naeryn wondered if Ranna had been thinking about her goodsister as she formed the phrase that exact way.

"The leading pattern remains the same," Ranna went on. "In their core, prophecies are no different than the powers leading human hearts, both great and vile. Greed. Envy. Desire for something that did not belong to the person desiring it. Doing a great wrong. Scrambling to make things right but what was once broken cannot be unbroken, only repaired, leaving seams behind. Self-sacrifice. It's a dangerous mix that can only be defined and utilized by people's actions and choices. And they do it according to their hearts and conscience."

Now that her aunt had given it spoken form, Naeryn could see the pattern. The Blacks and the Greens. Maelys the Monstrous who had wronged and loved her mother, who had wanted to make her his queen but the protection and goodness he showed her had not changed the enormous wounds that he had dealt her. Gerold Dayne who had taken away Allyria's future, because the girl could now not tolerate the thought of accepting a man – or woman – in her bed. King Aegon and the tragedy of Summerhall. Even Rhaegar's desperate attempts to fix the mistakes that had cost thousands of lives and lost him his family and peace of mind for the sake of a prophecy that had never been about him and his – although Naeryn had to admit that in this company, Rhaegar was the one purest of heart. The same story all over again, selflessness and selfishness blended together, aims and sometimes even actions of greatness the other side of actions born out of the lowliest pits in the human's heart, all repeated in hundreds of different forms by the people who had made a choice and thus changed the world – for good or bad.  _The end might have come a dozen times already_ , Naeryn thought, chilled. And each time, it had been averted by a small detail that had not been in the plans, something born out of the humanly side of someone, something that had not been writ in the scrolls at all.

"They should never know about the prophecy," she finally said.

Ranna nodded. "The irony is that the King might have been the one," she said wearily. "Had he not read about it and decided that it was about him, it might have been."

"Or not," Naeryn sighed. "He was supposed to be the embodiment of a prophecy, so his parents were forced into fulfilling it. Another reason why I think it's Princess Daenerys." She paused. "So you think Azor Ahai was the champion of both R'hllor and the Great Other," she finally said. "No wonder you chose Uncle. You would have been burned at some point for sure."

Ranna stared ahead, into the table. The reflection of the flames reached as far as there, showing her that she'd better work on her impulse control. In her youth, she had almost burnt a chamber in a burst of passion about a subject. She wondered if Melisandre had done such a thing. Probably. There was hardly a servant of R'hllor who had avoided mishaps whole learning.

"I didn't choose Carral out of fear," she finally said. "In fact, I should have feared him more than R'hllor's fires. I was one of those who… questioned him when he was fourteen."

Naeryn gaped. "And he wanted you?" she gasped. "After  _this_?"

Ranna smiled. "He separated the two. At fourteen, he considered me an enemy that he should not let break him. At nineteen, he thought I was everything he could want. He didn't care how old I was, how much red I wore and how many people I had broken the way I tried to break him. He wasn't at all moved by the rumours that I'd been a temple whore, that I had started my rise in the ranks by bedding the then High Priest and was currently sharing Benerro's bed, all the while planning to poison him and take his place. He just wanted me. No matter what. He didn't care what had taken place before. He wanted my future. To make it his. I've never regretted leaving with him."

"And risk losing all?" Naeryn's voice was full of disbelief. She remembered all too well how lost Ranna had been those first years in Dorne, the years of Naeryn's childhood.

"Gladly," Ranna replied, giving her an insistent look. That was something that had always troubled her about Naeryn. She was ready to risk her life for what she thought a worthy cause without hesitation – but not the slimmest chance of being rejected. "Oh, I know love causes pain. But the joy of it is so sweet that people are ready to take the bile. Just ask Elia."

"Perhaps I will," Naeryn said.

From somewhere behind the castle, a long howl came. It sounded like a wolf's one – but there weren't any wolves at Dragonstone. The sound made her think of Lyanna Stark throwing herself against the walls of the cage she had built for herself but they were too strong to break, too tall to climb. Then, she thought of Myara, the aunt who had destroyed her own life because of a series of humiliations and rejections.  _Perhaps not._

The next morning, the entire castle talked about the wolf cubs and when Naeryn hurried to the place where the crowd had gathered, she saw the King. Furious, he was striding towards the main building. Soon, the island will be treated to the sound of a dragon and a wolf fighting each other, she thought and blinked at the sight of the two boys running into an enclosed space with wolves.

 _The end might have come a dozen times already_ , she thought, recognizing that those were not common wolves.  _But this time, it_ is _coming._  And despite everything, she wondered if the course they had chosen was the right one.

 

 


	21. The Most Loving Thing

For Rhaegar, this day started like any other here, at Dragonstone: he washed and broke his fast some time before sunrise  as he read the last tidings from King’s Landing, then he asked for the news from the island itself and the surrounding ones. Everything looked in order. Then, he went out for a brief stroll before most of the people in the castle were awake. Whenever he passed by a servant, he’d be greeted by a hasty bow and then a retreating back as people ran about on their errands.

As usual, his steps led him to the small upland from which he could see the inn. The sun was always late to provide sufficient light here, at Dragonstone, so tallow candles winked in most of the fishing house for a long time. But the story of the inn where Elia’s party was remained dark, its shutters closed. It brought a peculiar mix of relief and unease in Rhaegar’s heart. In those first days when Aegon had needed constant care, Elia’s rooms had been constantly lit, so it was good that they weren’t now. At the same time, the memory of Elia stirring under the covers was not something Rhaegar cherished. He could easily imagine what she was up to now that their son was better!

It wasn’t that he loved her. It wasn’t even that he wanted her back. He didn’t. How could he want the reserved, efficient creature who had rejected all his attempts at closeness, at making up? But he couldn’t say that he didn’t want what they had once had. Once – before Harrenhall and the prophecy came between them. The sight of Elia in that bed had suddenly made him wonder if she had wanted and expected that he’d renew their intimate relationship once the war was over. Could things have been different if he had? Certainly! If not with Elia, then with Lyanna for sure… He could imagine just how she would have reacted!

His steps had led him halfway to the inn already before he realized where he was going. No matter what he thought or felt, he wouldn’t be welcome so early, even if he just wanted to see Aegon which he did. He’d have to wait until night fell… He turned and headed back.

To his surprise, the breaking dawn revealed a silhouette leaving his chambers. Rhaegar saw the pale hair and slim back and called out but his mother didn’t turn. He didn’t insist. If it had been something big, something _bad_ , she would have waited for him to the end.

He was just skimming through his daily schedule when his attention was distracted by sounds that were quite unusual this early. Someone had let the hounds from the kennels  way too early. They’ll rouse the whole castle, Rhaegar thought and went on his business. Soon, he even stopped paying attention to the yelping and barking.

Until the castellan, upon his arrival, mentioned something about wolves and how he was supposed to deal with them with the Queen Mother being too busy to receive him and hear about the predicament and the children refusing to give them up…

“What wolves?” Rhaegar asked and the answer sent him striding towards the yard in question before he could think. True enough, Jon was there with Robb Stark and two creatures who were cubs – but undoubtedly wolf cubs. Abominable wolf cubs. Disproportioned.

“What are you doing?” Rhaegar turned to his son, ignoring the gawking spectators who had rushed to the scene, ready to see someone losing a limb. “Leave it immediately!”

The thing lifted its red eyes and bored them into the King. The scruffy dirty-white fur of its neck rose as if it was growling, its mouth opened to reveal a set of disturbingly strong teeth but no sound emerged. Rhaegar’s unease grew. “What are you doing with it?” he asked again and since Jon had no intention to move away, he simply grabbed him by the arm and yanked him away.

“I am playing with him,” his son replied. “I’m taking care of him.”

“That’s a wolf, Jon.” Rhaegar tried to make his voice sound as calmly as possible. “You cannot play with a wolf. It’s a wild animal.”

Jon shook his head. “I know what this is,” he said, thrilled as Rhaegar had rarely seen him. “Mother told me last night when she brought them over. This is a direwolf! That’s Mother’s family sigil! And Robb’s! So they are ours,” he finished, as if it made perfect sense.

Unfortunately, he said it loudly enough for the people close to them to hear – servants, courtiers, and the Tyroshi arrivals from yesterday… And then Rhaegar could hear them whispering. Some of the comments certainly included hair and eyes…

He looked around, outraged, expecting to see his fool of a wife cheering the children on. She wasn’t anywhere in sight but that only made it marginally better. “Stay away from the wolves,” he snapped and looked at the men around. “Take them to their chambers,” he ordered to no one in particular and strode towards the main building, his cloak billowing behind him.

Lyanna wasn’t in her chambers. Rhaegar didn’t think twice before he headed for the stables. Indeed she was there, taking care of her horse after what had clearly been a hard ride that had left her with indecently red cheeks.

“So I thought,” he said, his voice admirably level to his own estimation. “The Braavosi delegation is going to arrive any moment now and the ladies from the Reach are still waiting for that morning of sewing for the poor that you have promised them but of course, riding like a madman and stinking like a horse is more important. I guess I should be grateful that the Gargalen murderer is still too weak to leave his room, or else there would have been rumours about his proximity to you during rides.”

She merely looked at him, not even bothering to snap back before returning to rubbing the mount dry. The blush that crept on her cheeks was not a welcome sight, though.

“Have you told the children that they could have the direwolves?” Rhaegar asked.

She looked astounded. “No, I…   _what_?”

“They’re playing with the beasts right now,” Rhaegar said, his self-control growing but his fury as well. “Jon was rhapsodizing about direwolves being your House’s sigil, so they were meant for the pair of them, in everyone’s hearing! What have you been teaching him? He’s a dragon, not a wolf!”

Her anger seemed to flare up as well, now. “So he’s a dragon now, is he? Was he a dragon when you’ve been spending all your spare time with Aegon? Was he a dragon when you were beaming with pride at everyone commenting how Valyrian Aegon was? He’s a dragon only when your pride is concerned?”

He stared at her with the utmost derision. “Do you realize what you’re doing to him by trying to raise him like a Stark in a Targaryen court? Do you have any idea? Even if he didn’t look like one, it would have been hard for him but you’re just making him weaker!”

“Won’t that be good for Aegon?” she challenged. “A weaker opponent is better for him than… what?”

“So you have been thinking in those terms,” he said slowly. “What a fool I was!”

Her hand flew to his face but he caught it and squeezed it just hard enough to give her a warning. No matter what a warrior she fancied herself to be, she’d always be inferior to him in sheer strength.

By now, the stableboys had dove through doors and inside stalls to escape royal notice but the King and Queen took note of their absence just as much as they did of their presence.

“No,” Lyanna snarled. “It’s you who’s been thinking in those terms. Why did you take me if you thought me capable to wish – and act – ill against your precious first family? If I knew my children and I would be treated like second bests, I would have never come with you!”

After all, she had been so aghast at the thought that she wouldn’t be Robert’s only one. Why hadn’t she thought that she’d never be even Rhaegar’s first one, even if in name only? The only one in his heart and bed had sounded good enough then. The thought that one day, she might lose interest in that had never crossed her mind.

For a moment, Rhaegar was tempted to remind her that she didn’t have _children_. She had a child. His hopes to get the daughter the world needed from her were diminishing rapidly. But he was not this cruel. No woman wanted to be reminded of such a thing. And she wasn’t the one to blame, no more than his mother could be blamed for her litany of stillbirths, miscarriages, and cradle deaths.

Once again, they were to that ridiculous jealousy of hers, her acute knowledge that the court didn’t consider her a worthy queen and Jon, by extension, a worthy… what? Successor? No! By the Seven, what a mess he had made out of everything!

Still, this was no reason to encourage rumours that might turn against Jon one day. And certainly no reason to let the boys play with creatures that might maim them!

“The children aren’t going to appear near the cubs ever again,” he stated.

“They will,” Lyanna vowed. She had been truthful when she had told him that she hadn’t encouraged the boys to go there on their own. But they had. And now, in the face of Rhaegar’s anger, she realized that giving them a part of the North was the most loving thing she could possibly do for them.


End file.
